Essays in Analytic Theology Michael

Rea
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/essays-in-analytic-theology-michael-rea/
OXFORD STUDIES IN ANALYTIC THEOLOGY

Series Editors
MICHAEL C. REA
and
OLIVER D. CRISP
 OXFORD STUDIES IN ANALYTIC THEOLOGY
Analytic Theology utilizes the tools and methods of contemporary analytic
philosophy for the purposes of constructive Christian theology, paying attention
to the Christian tradition and development of doctrine. This innovative series
of studies showcases high quality, cutting edge research in this area, in monographs
and symposia.

  :

Metaphysics and the Tri-Personal God
William Hasker
The Theological Project of Modernism
Faith and the Conditions of Mineness
Kevin W. Hector
The End of the Timeless God
R. T. Mullins
Ritualized Faith
Essays on the Philosophy of Liturgy
Terence Cuneo
In Defense of Conciliar Christology
A Philosophical Essay
Timothy Pawl
Atonement
Eleonore Stump
Humility and Human Flourishing
A Study in Analytic Moral Theology
Michael W. Austin
Humility, Pride, and Christian Virtue Theory
Kent Dunnington
Essays in Analytic
Theology
Volume 2

MICHAEL C. REA

1
 3
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
United Kingdom
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship,
and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of
Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries
© Michael C. Rea 2020
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
First Edition published in 2020
Impression: 1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics
rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above
You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Data available
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020944362
Set ISBN 978–0–19–886679–4
Volume 1 978–0–19–886680–0
Volume 2 978–0–19–886681–7
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198866817.003.0001
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A.
Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and
for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials
contained in any third party website referenced in this work.
 Acknowledgements

With the exception of Chapter 9 and the postscripts to Chapters 7 and 8, all of the
essays in this volume have been previously published. I have made no changes to
the previously published material except to correct a few minor errors, add an
occasional editorial note, and make some formatting changes for the sake of
uniformity. I am grateful to the following publishers for permission to reprint
the material listed here.

‘The Metaphysics of Original Sin’, pp. 319–56 in Persons: Human and Divine,
edited by Dean Zimmerman and Peter van Inwagen (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2007). Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press.
‘Hylomorphism and the Incarnation’, pp. 134–52 in The Metaphysics of the
Incarnation, edited by Anna Marmodoro and Jonathan Hill (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2011). Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press.
‘The Ill-Made Knight and the Stain on the Soul’, European Journal for Philosophy
of Religion 11 (2019): 1–18.
‘In Defence of Sceptical Theism: A Reply to Almeida and Oppy’ (with Michael
Bergmann), Australasian Journal of Philosophy 83 (2005): 241–51.
‘Wright on Theodicy: Reflections on Evil and the Justice of God’, Philosophia
Christi 10 (2008): 461–70. Philosophia Christi is the journal of the Evangelical
Philosophical Society (http://epsociety.org).
‘Skeptical Theism and the “Too-Much-Skepticism” Objections’, pp. 482–506 in
The Blackwell Companion to the Problem of Evil, edited by Justin McBrayer and
Daniel Howard-Snyder (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014).
‘Narrative, Liturgy, and the Hiddenness of God’, pp. 76–96 in Metaphysics and
God: Essays in Honor of Eleonore Stump, edited by Kevin Timpe (New York:
Routledge, 2009).
‘Hiddenness and Transcendence’, pp. 210–25 in A. Green and E. Stump (eds),
Hidden Divinity and Religious Belief (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2015). Copyright Cambridge University Press. Reprinted with permission.

I am also grateful to Michael Bergmann for his permission to reprint our ‘In
Defence of Sceptical Theism: A Reply to Almeida and Oppy’, to Oliver Crisp, Hud
Hudson, and the anonymous referees for Oxford University Press for very
helpful comments on the introductions and postscripts, and to Callie Phillips
viii 

for preparing the index. Finally, I would like to thank Oliver Crisp for encouraging
me to publish these essays here and in the companion volume, for our ongoing
collaboration on all things analytic-theological, and, most of all, for our many
years of friendship. It is in gratitude for all of this that I dedicated the first volume
to him. This second volume I dedicate to my youngest son, Matthias.
 To

Matthias Rea
 Introduction

This book is the second of two volumes collecting together the most substantial
work in analytic theology that I have completed between 2003 and 2019. Volume
I contains chapters focused, broadly speaking, on the nature of God; this second
volume contains chapters focused more on doctrines about humanity, the human
condition, and how human beings relate to God. The chapters in Part I deal with
the doctrines of the incarnation, original sin, and atonement; those in Part II
discuss the problem of evil, the problem of divine hiddenness, and a theological
problem that arises in connection with the idea that God not only tolerates but
validates a response of angry protest in the face of these problems. The section
headings of this introduction match the part divisions of the book; but, as in
Volume I’s introduction, the aim here is not to summarize the chapters included
in each section’s corresponding part, but rather to supplement them with a more
general discussion of some of my past and current thinking on the various loci
covered by the chapters in the volume.¹

1. Incarnation, Sin, and Atonement

The Westminster Shorter Catechism opens with the question, ‘What is the chief
end of Man?’ and then offers the following answer: ‘To glorify God and enjoy him
forever.’ Gender-exclusive language notwithstanding, this captures the heart of
Christian teaching about the human telos. It implies that we cannot flourish
outside of a relationship with God, that the purpose for which we are created is
wholly oriented towards God, that we are capable of living forever, and that our
purpose includes eternal enjoyment of God.
But Christianity also teaches that human beings are not capable on their own of
coming anywhere close to realizing their telos. They need divine help, owing to a
further (contingent) fact about human nature. In short, human nature has been
damaged, or become corrupted. (Different traditions within Christianity have
different views both about whether it is better to say that human nature is
‘wounded’ or ‘corrupted’ and also about the precise nature and extent of the

¹ For some of the content of this introduction I have drawn on part of another essay not included
here—one which I characterized at the time I wrote it as ‘a miniature sketch of a partial systematic
theology’ (Rea 2017). I am grateful to the publisher for permission to reuse this material.

Essays in Analytic Theology: Volume II. Michael C. Rea, Oxford University Press (2020). © Michael C. Rea.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198866817.003.0001
2    :  

wound or corruption.² Henceforth I will simply speak of ‘damage’ in an effort to

straddle the lines between these different views.) This damage is supposed to be
something we are born with, a result somehow of the first human sin, and a
condition that makes it very likely—many would say inevitable—that we fall into
further sin. These claims constitute the main part of the doctrine of original sin.³
The other part, more controversial, is the doctrine of original guilt, which implies
that the damage to our nature is sufficient, even in the absence of voluntary sin in
our earthly lives, to preclude us from eternal life with God unless it is somehow
remedied.⁴
Both parts of this doctrine are puzzling; both parts are theologically important.
Why should the first human sin (assuming there was a single, definite event that
constituted the first sin) result in universal damage? Why should such damage
present in us from birth pose an obstacle to our relationship with God even in the
absence of voluntary sin on our part? There are no easy answers to these questions,
as the extended discussion of alternatives in Chapter 1 makes clear. But neither is
it easy simply to abandon the doctrine. Original sin (taken to include original
guilt) is supposed to explain two facts about the human condition. First, sin is
universal. Everyone is disposed to sin, and everyone who lives long enough to
become a full-blown moral agent does sin. Second, everyone needs salvation. The
supposition that there was a first sin that damaged human nature explains the
universality of sin without implying that God created us in a damaged condition,
or that it is sheer coincidence that we are all damaged. The supposition that it is
human nature that got damaged, and damaged in such a way as to separate us
from God, explains why every human being needs salvation.
I think that the two facts just mentioned can be accepted independently of the
doctrine of original sin, simply on the strength of the scriptural evidence that
supports them. I also think that the doctrine itself can be reasonably accepted as
an article of faith, even in the absence of answers to the challenging questions
mentioned above. Still, it would be nice to have at least some idea of how the first
sin might have resulted in the consequences that the doctrine affirms.⁵ I do not
have a full theory to offer; but I can take some initial steps in that direction.

² For example, the Catechism of the Catholic Church emphasizes the ‘wound’ to our nature, and
explicitly denies that it is totally corrupted (see 1.7.3, esp. para. 405), whereas theologians in the
Reformed tradition typically insist that original sin is a form of corruption.
³ Or ‘ancestral sin’ in Eastern Christianity; but my characterization more closely follows Western
lines of thought.
⁴ In the confessions of the Reformed tradition, the doctrine of original guilt is normally taken to
include the claim that we are guilty for the corruption of our nature, or that God blames us for it. It is
also commonly said that God is angry with us for it. I do not reject these statements outright, but I think
that they are apt to mislead; and I think that the ‘divine wrath’ claims are particularly unfortunate in
this regard. Since I cannot possibly hope to do them justice in the short space allotted here, I simply set
them aside.
⁵ We might also ask how belief in a ‘first sin’ or an ‘historical Adam’ could be reconciled with
evolutionary theory. This is a matter of interesting controversy, and several proposals strike me as
promising; but I shall not pursue this issue further here.
  3

Suppose that it is part of the human design plan for us to exist in a kind of
emotional and psychological union with God (analogous to but deeper even than
the sort of union that takes place between close friends or spouses). Under
‘normal’ circumstances, we would experience this union in rudimentary form
from the first moment of our existence as psychological beings, and our experi-
ence of it would grow stronger and deeper throughout our lives as our cognitive
capacities develop and mature. Furthermore, such union is absolutely necessary
for proper moral and psychological development. Being apart from this relation-
ship is like deep sea diving without proper equipment: we become damaged,
distorted, and subject to further moral and psychological deterioration for as
long as we are without it. Suppose that the first human person(s) came into the
world already united with God in the requisite way, but that one consequence of
the first sin was that God partially withdrew God’s presence from creation, so that
the union for which we were designed was no longer readily available—it could be
had only dimly in this life and only with special divine help and as a result of
actively seeking God.
This is a story according to which the first sin does indeed result in universal
damage. But is it also a story on which the first sin results in damage to human
nature? Despite the prevalence in the tradition of the idea that human nature itself
is altered by the Fall, it is not immediately obvious how the withdrawal of God’s
presence (apparently an extrinsic change) could be or result in such a change; and
there is, unfortunately, a dearth of explicit commentary on this issue in the
tradition. But perhaps we might (speculatively) flesh out the story as follows. Let
us simply deny that the withdrawal of divine presence was an extrinsic change: it
was, before the Fall, part of human nature itself to be, in a certain way, imbued
with the divine presence. Pre-Fall and post-Fall humanity both count as ‘versions’
of humanity by virtue of their deep resemblance to one another. But, unlike pre-
Fall humans, post-Fall human beings are by nature bereft of an intrinsic feature
that they desperately need in order to achieve their telos, and they are damaged
and moving toward further ruin from the first moment of life.⁶ On the supposition
that living in a world apart from the (relevant mode of) divine presence results in
distinctively moral damage so utterly devastating as to pervade our entire psyche,
it is even appropriate to say, with Calvin, that one result of the Fall is the total
depravity of the human race.
The story just given explains the universality of sin. Sin is universal because
humans can avoid it only by being fully in the presence of God, and the first sin

⁶ How could being imbued in a certain way with the divine presence be intrinsic? Simple: Intrinsic
properties are ones that cannot differ between duplicates or, following Langton and Lewis (1998), ones
that are independent of accompaniment by contingent beings. It is not implausible that two human
beings who differ with respect to the relevant mode of divine presence would not count as duplicates;
for one, but not the other, would be bound for a life of increasing sinfulness absent divine rescue.
Likewise, if (as I think) God is a necessary being, it is easy to see how being imbued with God’s presence
in a certain way would be independent of accompaniment by other contingent beings.
4    :  

resulted in the partial withdrawal of God’s presence. It also provides the resources
to explain why God’s plan of salvation is relevant to everyone. Standard Christian
soteriology maintains that the work of Christ makes us fit for God’s presence and
contributes to our sanctification. We might suppose, then, that even infants who
die without voluntarily sinning require (as a result of their being conceived and
born in the conditions just described) divine help to become fit for the presence of
God, without which help they would remain damaged in their afterlife and would
experience precisely the sort of moral deterioration and ruin that characterize
natural human life.
The human condition, then, fundamentally includes sin and misery. The idea is
not that we are constantly committing sin and feeling miserable, never experien-
cing pleasure, never displaying virtues, always displaying vices, and so on. Rather,
the idea is this: First, our lives are characterized by sin, in that we are unable
without divine assistance to order our desires in the right way, and doing the
right thing involves moral struggle against strong and pervasive self-oriented
inclinations. Second, this situation is one in which we are ‘objectively miserable’,
not happy in the Aristotelian sense, failing to flourish, and subject as a result to
feeling miserable far more often than we should expect in a world created by a
loving God.
The Christian gospel, however—the good news—is that this tale of sin and
misery is not the whole story about the human condition. The rest of the story is
that, despite our sin and despite how things may look, God still loves us, desires
union with us and wants us to flourish, and has therefore intervened dramatically
in human history in order to save us from our condition. The essential details of
this propitious intervention, sans explanatory comments, are as follows. The
second person of the Trinity became human and lived among us as the man,
Jesus of Nazareth. He lived a perfectly sinless life, and fulfilled the human telos,
showing us in the process both what God the Father is like and what human
beings were meant to be like. During his life on earth, he worked miracles—
healing the sick, walking on water, feeding his followers, raising the dead, and
much else besides. At the end he suffered unjust persecution, torture, and death at
the hands of his contemporaries, after which he rose bodily from the dead and
ascended into heaven. All of this, but perhaps especially his suffering, death, and
resurrection, somehow deliver us from the power of sin and death and contribute
to reconciling the whole world to God. Moreover, after Jesus’ ascension, the Holy
Spirit came to dwell within individual believers and to help them realize the sort of
union with God that they were intended to have.
I believe this story, as I have told it, in its entirety; and I believe that the miracles
reported therein literally occurred. I believe all of this in part because I take the
New Testament authors to be reliable reporters of the events in Jesus’ life. But, of
course, there is much in the story that merits extended discussion.
First, how shall we understand the claim that the second person of the Trinity
became human? As with the doctrine of the Trinity, the Christian tradition does not
  5

offer a full-blown theory of the incarnation but simply imposes boundaries on our
theorizing. Whatever else we say about the incarnation, a fully orthodox theory
(i.e. one that respects the pronouncements of the ecumenical creeds) must at least
say this: In becoming human, the second person of the Trinity retained his divine
nature, so that the incarnate Christ is one person with two natures rather than
(say) one person with a single hybrid nature, or two persons in one body, each
with his own nature; and, whatever else it involved, taking on human nature at
least meant coming to have a rational soul, or mind, and a physical human body,
and having two wills, human and divine. Chapter 2 offers a model of what this
might involve, one that appeals to the same Aristotelian doctrines about matter
and form that undergird my solution to the problem of the Trinity.
Second, what shall we say about how the suffering, death, and resurrection of
Jesus contribute to rectifying the human condition? Our condition, again, is one of
sin and misery, brought on by a primordial change in the relationship between
God and creation. Whereas God’s presence in the world and to human beings was
once vivid and readily available, now it is hidden and available only with difficulty.
But scripture tells us that the work of Christ has changed all of this for the better.
As a result of Christ’s work, God’s presence and assistance is now more readily
available. We who embrace Christ’s work on our behalf have been reconciled with
God;⁷ we therefore have access to the divine help we need in order to avoid sin and
reach our telos. Although we cannot fully achieve our telos in this life, we are
assured that our lives will continue after our physical death and that we will in the
afterlife be able to reach it. The New Testament employs a variety of terms (in
addition to salvation) to describe what the work of Jesus accomplished on our
behalf: e.g. justification, redemption or ransom, reconciliation with God, deliver-
ance from sin, re-creation or rebirth, the offering of an atoning sacrifice, abundant
life, and eternal life. But, I take it, the very simple message is that somehow,
through Christ, the human condition has been rectified so that we are now able
ultimately to glorify God and enjoy God forever.
But how exactly does it all work? Which of the aforementioned terms are to be
taken literally, and which are mere metaphors? Different decisions on these
matters push one in radically different theoretical directions. Taking the justifica-
tion and atoning sacrifice language quite literally and treating ransom language as
more metaphorical, for example, tends to push theologians in the direction of a
penal-substitutionary model: Jesus’ death on the cross was a sacrifice to God the
Father, wherein Jesus bore in his body and soul exactly the penalty that we
ourselves deserved in order to satisfy the wrath of God. Taking the redemption
and ransom language more literally, on the other hand, pushes in the direction of

⁷ And what of those who, for whatever reason, have not embraced Christ’s work? My thoughts on
this topic are still evolving; but I can say at least this much here: I have argued in Rea 2018 that there is
good reason to think that everyone who at least tries to seek God will ultimately have a salvific
relationship with God, and I have also argued in Rea (forthcoming) that it is irrational to have (as
I do) the unconditional hope that soteriological universalism is true without believing that it is true.
6    :  

a Christus victor model, in which concerns about justification are (at least) de-
emphasized and Jesus’ death is seen as a literal transaction of some sort which
delivers us from genuine bondage to the Devil, or to the power of sin and death, or
to some other kind of evil other-worldly force.
The view that the legal/penal imagery deserves pride of place, and that the
justification of sinners is first and foremost what was accomplished by Christ’s
atoning sacrifice on the cross, has sometimes been referred to as the ‘Protestant
Orthodoxy’. (Cf. Aulén 1931.) I do not deny this view. But, at this stage in my
thinking about the matter, neither can I defend it. For it is not clear to me that
there is sufficient scriptural data for elevating any of these images over the others
for theory-building purposes. Furthermore, it seems that one available theoretical
option is to say simply this: The main soteriological message of the New
Testament is that the work of Christ accomplished, in some sense, all of these
things for us.⁸ It made us justified in the eyes of God; it delivered us from the
power of sin, evil, and death and resulted in their utter defeat and humiliation; and
it brought us new life, eternal and abundant, and made us into new creations. But
as to how and why and in exactly what sense all of these things happened, perhaps
we cannot say without offering a model that ultimately lapses into metaphor,
leaves out important truths, or otherwise misleads. That said, however, I do think
that it is possible to develop partial theories about how Christ’s work accomplishes
its effects that do real justice to the various images used to characterize Christ’s
work without necessarily giving any of them pride of place. Chapter 3 offers an
initial foray into some of these issues in the context of a response to Eleonore
Stump’s recent book, Atonement (Stump 2018).

2. Evil, Divine Hiddenness, and Worship

Part II of this book deals with the two most long-standing and formidable
challenges to Christian belief, the problem of evil and the problem of divine
hiddenness, as well as with some puzzles that arise in connection with the idea
that God both authorizes and validates a response of protest in the face of these
problems. Chapters 4, 5, and 6 address the problem of evil; Chapters 7 and 8 focus
on the problem of divine hiddenness. Chapter 9 addresses the concerns about
protest.
Both the problem of evil and the problem of divine hiddenness might fruitfully
be characterized as problems arising out of violated expectations about the
character and likely observable consequences of divine love, goodness, and
power. Good people who have the power to prevent very bad things from

⁸ My view of the atonement resembles the so-called ‘kaleidoscopic theory’ of Mark Baker and Joel
Green. See Green and Baker 2000 and Green 2006.
  7

happening to those they love generally do so—except, of course, in certain cases

where there is a special, good reason for allowing the bad thing to happen. Good
people who have the power to communicate with those they love generally tend to
do so often, openly, and especially in times of trouble—except, again, in certain
cases where there is a special, good reason for not doing so. Hence the problems of
evil and divine hiddenness. We are told that God is perfectly good, maximally
powerful, and infinitely loving; we are told that God is our heavenly parent. Why,
then, do bad things, even horrendous things, happen in the world with such soul-
crushing frequency and, often enough, on a staggeringly grand scale? Why doesn’t
God communicate openly and frequently with us, offering comfort in times of
suffering and sorrow and assurance of God’s love and providential control over
the world? These, in brief, are the two problems.
It is fashionable in some quarters now simply to dismiss the problem of evil as a
mere philosophers’ conundrum. N. T. Wright, for example, maintains that the real
problem of evil is simply that evil is bad and needs to be dealt with (Wright 2006,
ch. 1). Some go so far as to suggest that efforts to address the philosophical
problem of evil are crass, or immature, trivializing evil by treating it as a mere
puzzle for religious belief. The suggestion is that those spending their time trying
to solve the philosophical problem of evil are not behaving with moral integrity;
they should be reflecting instead on what God has done about evil and on what
God expects us to do about evil. But I think that this critique of the literature is
itself guilty of trivializing something important. The problem of evil is made worse
by the phenomenon of divine hiddenness. Divine hiddenness makes the experi-
ence of evil all the more agonizing; and our most natural thoughts about what
perfect goodness and perfect love would look like conspire, in the face of evil and
hiddenness together, to steer us away from belief in God. As Robert Anderson
wrote at the end of the nineteenth century,

It is no novel experience with men that Heaven should be silent. But what is new
and strange and startling is that the silence should be so absolute and prolonged;
that through all the changing vicissitudes of the Church’s history for nearly two
thousand years that silence should have remained unbroken. This it is which tries
faith, and hardens unfaith into open infidelity. (Anderson 1897: 62–3)

And, towards the end of the twentieth century, G. Tom Milazzo expressed the
same idea all the more pointedly as follows:

The God that chooses to be silent in the presence of suffering and death is a God
whose face is darkened by our agony and whose hands are covered with our
blood. If the face of God is darkened by our suffering, a God whose reason and
purpose is unknown to us, the faithful cannot but protest God’s injustice,
hiddenness, and absence. Yet inasmuch as this lament is a protest against
8    :  

God’s silence, it is also a call to God to come out of the darkness that God might
absolve itself of complicity in our suffering and tragedy. . . . Either God is not
there, and God’s hiddenness is really absence, or the God who is there is a cruel,
angry, brutal God that seems to relish human suffering. Either God is absent, or
God is implicated in, if not responsible for our death.
(Milazzo 1991: 44–5)

As I see it, then, integrity in the faithful requires us to grapple with these problems,
not necessarily by trying to solve them (not everyone is a philosopher-theologian),
but at least by attending to their seriousness and respecting the activity of trying to
solve them. Moreover, both problems are rich mines for theological insight.
Arising as they do out of natural expectations on divine love, goodness, and
power, they invite us to reflect theologically on those attributes and offer an
accounting of them. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that, just as believers
ought not to glibly dismiss these two challenges to their faith, so too atheists and
agnostics ought not to glibly treat them merely as reasons to deny the existence of
God. As I have said elsewhere,

it takes a remarkable abundance of faith in human theoretical capacities to give

up belief in God, or to decline to investigate the matter further, simply on the
basis of one’s alleged rational insight into the premises of the hiddenness
argument. Given the importance and complexity of the question whether God
exists, it does not seem right or reasonable to think that the matter could be
decided by the hiddenness argument in the absence of detailed, historically and
theologically informed exploration and defense of the assumptions about God
that are embedded in it. (Rea 2018: 7–8)

In response to both problems, I am inclined to invoke a thesis I have elsewhere

dubbed ‘  ’:⁹

H  E: Suppose F is an alleged intrinsic attribute of

God; and suppose we have formed expectations about the manifestation of F-
ness on the basis of our grasp of a non-revealed concept of F-ness (i.e., a concept
of F-ness whose content is not fully given in divine revelation).¹⁰ In that case, the
violation of those expectations does not by itself support (i.e., imply, render
probable, or justify belief in) the conclusion that sentences predicating F-ness of
God are not true.

⁹ Rea 2018: 55–6.

¹⁰ The content of a concept is ‘fully given in divine revelation’ just if the complete content of that
concept is part of or derivable from the content of divine revelation.
  9

This thesis bears on the problem of evil in the following way. Suppose (as I think is
correct) we have no good reason to think that the content of our concepts of
divine goodness, love, or power are fully given in divine revelation. Then we are
not entitled to infer that God is not good or loving or all-powerful, or that God
does not exist, from the fact that our grasp of these concepts leads us to expect that
God could have no justifying reason for permitting evils of whatever sort figure
into our preferred formulation of the problem of evil. Accordingly, I endorse what
is now commonly (even if somewhat misleadingly) called ‘sceptical theism’—the
view (as I characterize it) that no human being is justified in thinking the following
about any evil e that has ever occurred: there is (or is probably) no reason that
could justify God in permitting e. As I argue in Chapter 6, this view does not imply
that we know nothing about what God would or would not permit; but it does
imply that the limits on our knowledge undercut our ability to draw inferences
from actual instances of evil to the non-existence of God.
My response to the problem of divine hiddenness is likewise grounded in
H  E, although this fact does not come out as clearly
as I would like it to in the chapters I have included in this volume. Chapter 7 was
my first attempt at grappling philosophically with the problem of divine hidden-
ness. I formulated the problem in a non-standard way—I focused on the problem
as I experienced it, rather than on the version that has dominated the literature—
and I solved it by suggesting that the good for the sake of which divine hiddenness
was justified had something to do with the expression of God’s unique and deeply
alien personality. In effect, this solution maintains that our expectations on divine
love should be tempered by humility because God is deeply other than we are.
Given God’s ‘otherness’, it should not be terribly surprising that God violates our
expectations in significant ways in manifesting love towards us. Furthermore,
I argued, it might be that what justifies these violations of our expectations is not
some good that comes to us as a result of what we suffer, but rather the goodness
involved in God’s living out the maximally good and beautiful divine personality.
In complementary fashion, Chapter 8 focuses more on a version of the problem
that has dominated the literature and grounds the solution to the problem (again,
an appeal to something like H  E) more explicitly in
divine transcendence. As the postscripts make clear, neither chapter is a fully
adequate representation of my current thinking about the problem of divine
hiddenness; nor do they individually or together fully express what I now think
of as the best way of addressing the problem.¹¹
The volume concludes with a chapter that explores concerns about whether
impious protest against God—protest that does not arise in a context of steadfast
faith in God’s love and goodness—can possibly count as ‘well-formed’ prayer that

¹¹ For the latter, see Rea 2018.

10    :  

is consistent with our duty to worship God. In The Hiddenness of God (2018),
I argued that one way in which God shows love to people who are angry with God
as a result of divine hiddenness, suffering, or related issues is by authorizing and
validating a response of protest. I stand by this conclusion; but, as I note at the
beginning of Chapter 9, the conclusion stands in tension with plausible and
widespread assumptions about our duties to worship God and about the nature
of well-formed prayer. The aim of this chapter is to address those tensions.

References

Anderson, Robert. 1897. The Silence of God. New York: Dodd, Mead, and Company.
Aulén, Gustaf. 1931. Christus Victor: An Historical Study of the Three Main Types of
the Idea of the Atonement. London: SPCK.
Green, Joel B. 2006. ‘Kaleidoscopic View’. In The Nature of the Atonement: Four Views,
edited by James K. Beilby and Paul R. Eddy, 157–85. Downers Grove, IL: IVP
Academic.
Green, Joel B. and Mark D. Baker. 2000. Recovering the Scandal of the Cross:
Atonement in New Testament and Contemporary Contexts. Downers Grove, IL:
InterVarsity Press.
Langton, Rae and David Lewis. 1998. ‘Defining “Intrinsic” ’. Philosophy and
Phenomenological Research 58: 333–45.
Milazzo, G. Tom. 1991. The Protest and the Silence: Suffering, Death, and Biblical
Theology. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.
Rea, Michael. 2017. ‘(Reformed) Protestantism’. In Inter-Christian Philosophical
Dialogues, edited by Graham Oppy and Nick Trakakis, vol. 4: 67–88. London:
Routledge.
Rea, Michael. 2018. The Hiddenness of God. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rea, Michael. Forthcoming. “Hopeful Universalism.” Religious Studies.
Stump, Eleonore. 2018. Atonement. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Wright, N. T. 2006. Evil and the Justice of God. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.
 1
The Metaphysics of Original Sin

Various different doctrines in the history of Christian thought have gone under
the label ‘the doctrine of original sin’. All of them affirm something like the
following claim:

(S0) All human beings (except, at most, four) suffer from a kind of corruption
that makes it very likely that they will fall into sin.

Many (perhaps most) go on to affirm the following two claims as well:

(S1) All human beings (except, at most, four) suffer from a kind of corruption
that makes it inevitable that they will fall into sin, and this corruption is a
consequence of the first sin of the first man.
(S2) All human beings (except, at most, four) are guilty from birth in the eyes of
God, and this guilt is a consequence of the first sin of the first man.

The ‘exceptions’ referred to in S0–S2 are the first human beings (Adam and Eve),
Jesus of Nazareth, and (according to those who endorse the doctrine of the
Immaculate Conception) Mary, the mother of Jesus.
S2 is known as the doctrine of original guilt. It is now common for S2 to be
treated as a doctrine separate from the doctrine of original sin, which many
philosophers and theologians simply identify with S0 or S1. But it was not always
so; and it will be convenient for present purposes just to stipulate that S2 is part of
the doctrine of original sin. I will also stipulate that S1 is part of that doctrine.
Thus, for purposes here, nothing counts as a theory of original sin or as an
expression of the doctrine of original sin (hereafter, DOS) unless it includes
commitment to both S1 and S2. For ease of exposition, I will talk as if the story
of the Fall as recorded in Genesis 3 is literally true. I do not think that this story
must be literally true in all of its details in order for S1 and S2 to be true. But I will
not discuss here questions about which details are required by suitably developed
versions of DOS, nor will I discuss questions about which details would have to be
modified if, as many now believe, the Genesis account of creation were literally
false.
DOS has played an important role in the history of Christian thought. Among
other things, it provides an explanation for the universality of sin, and it also

Essays in Analytic Theology: Volume II. Michael C. Rea, Oxford University Press (2020). © Michael C. Rea.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198866817.003.0002
14    :  

provides critical underpinning for the view that all human beings—even the
youngest of infants—are in need of a saviour.¹ It was accepted by most of the
medieval philosopher-theologians from Augustine through Duns Scotus, and it is
affirmed by many of the most important post-Athanasian creeds of the Orthodox,
Roman Catholic, and evangelical Protestant churches.² Prima facie, however, it
conflicts with the following intuitively plausible ‘principle of possible prevention’:

(MR) A person P is morally responsible for the obtaining of a state of affairs

S only if S obtains (or obtained) and P could have prevented S from obtaining.

The reason is simple. According to DOS, human beings are born guilty. But one
cannot be guilty simpliciter. If one is guilty, then there must be something—
presumably, the obtaining of some state of affairs—for which one is guilty. But,
one might think, whatever states of affairs obtained at or before the time we were
born were not states of affairs whose obtaining we had the power to prevent. So if
MR is true, it would seem to follow that we can be guilty only for things that
happen after we are born. But then we cannot be guilty from birth as DOS
requires.³

¹ Hence, Augustine writes in one of his anti-Pelagian treatises:

Now, seeing that [the Pelagians] admit the necessity of baptizing infants—finding themselves
unable to contravene that authority of the universal Church, which has been unquestionably
handed down by the Lord and His apostles—they cannot avoid the further concession, that
infants require the same benefits of the Mediator, in order that . . . they may be reconciled to
God. . . . But from what, if not from death, and the vices, and guilt, and thraldom, and darkness
of sin? And, inasmuch as they do not commit any sin in the tender age of infancy by their
actual transgression, original sin only is left.
(On the Merits and Forgiveness of Sins, bk 1, ch. 39, in Augustine 1999: 30)
² See, for example, The Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent, Fifth Session (in Schaff 1998a:
83–89); The Orthodox Confession of Faith, pt I, Q. 24 (in Mohila 1975); The Acts and Decrees of the
Synod of Jerusalem, ch. VI, Decree XVI (Orthodox Eastern Church 1899: 139–43); The Augsburg
Confession, pt I, Arts II–III (in Schaff 1998b: 8–9); The Heidelberg Catechism, Questions 4–11 (in Schaff
1998b: 308–11); The Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of England, Art. IX (in Schaff 1998b: 492–3);
and The Westminster Confession, ch. VI (in Schaff 1998b: 615–17).
³ It has been suggested to me that perhaps the alleged conflict with MR could be dismissed out of
hand on the grounds that MR talks about ‘individual guilt’ whereas original sin concerns ‘collective
responsibility’, the idea being that we humans are somehow collectively, though not individually, guilty
or responsible for the behaviour of Adam. Peter Forrest (1994) develops a view of original sin roughly
along these lines, a view according to which a society itself might be viewed as a moral person and the
individuals who comprise it might, accordingly, be held collectively responsible for its acts. My own
inclination, however, is to think that groups of persons are not themselves moral persons, and that
whatever collective guilt or responsibility might be, it will, in any case, depend on facts about individual
guilt or responsibility. For example: The mob is collectively guilty for the damage to the city; but what
that means is just that various individuals who were parts of the mob are individually guilty for their
contributions to the damage. The notion of collective debt is, to my mind, more promising. (As is the
notion of collective liability. See, on this, Wainwright 1988: 45ff.) A group might owe $1,000 to
someone even if there is no specific amount of money that any particular member of the group owes
to that person. But as Richard Swinburne (1989) emphasizes, claiming that we collectively inherit only
a debt from Adam is precisely to reject the doctrine of original guilt, which I am here taking as central
to DOS.
      15

Whatever scriptural or systematic theological objections one might have

against DOS, the apparent conflict with MR is almost certainly the primary source
of purely philosophical resistance to it. On the other hand, some theologians,
particularly in the Reformed tradition, treat the apparent conflict between DOS
and MR as reason to reject MR.⁴ In the hands of these theologians, DOS plays an
important role in paving the way for the view that moral responsibility is com-
patible with determinism—a conclusion which, in turn, constitutes an important
premise in defence of the view that freedom is compatible with determinism.
Thus, Christians who are interested in preserving their commitment to DOS while
at the same time resisting compatibilism about freedom and moral responsibility
would do well to examine carefully the question whether there is straightforward
conflict between DOS and MR.
In what follows, I will show that there is no straightforward conflict. My
discussion will be divided into three sections. In Section 1, I will provide a brief
survey of theories of original sin. With the exception of Edwards’s theory, which
shall be deferred to Section 2, all of the theories that I will discuss there are in
tension with MR. We will see, however, that none of these theories explicitly
contradicts MR. Rather, the tension arises because none of the theories offers the
resources for denying the following very plausible assumption which, in conjunc-
tion with DOS, does contradict MR:

(A1) No human being who was born after Adam’s first sin could have done
anything to prevent Adam’s first sin; and no human being who is born corrupt
could have done anything to prevent her own corruption.

The conflict to be resolved, then, is not, strictly speaking, between DOS and MR;
rather, it is between DOS, MR, and A1. Of course, it is a hollow victory to show
that DOS can be reconciled with MR if the price for reconciliation is denying what
any sane person would be inclined to accept. A more substantive victory would be
achieved if one could actually develop a theory of original sin that rests on
metaphysical assumptions that are both deserving of serious consideration and
inconsistent with A1. Thus, in Sections 2 and 3 I will describe two such theories.
One is a development of a view defended by Jonathan Edwards.⁵ The other
rests on assumptions that naturally accompany a Molinist account of divine

⁴ Jonathan Edwards most notably (Freedom of the Will, pt 3, sec. 4, in Edwards 1992: 47–51); but see
also, for example, Hodge 2001, ch. 8, and Schreiner 1995.
⁵ Interestingly, the fact that Edwards’s theory of original sin can be reconciled with MR is bad news
for Edwards, since Edwards wants to appeal to the alleged conflict between DOS and MR to support the
claim that moral responsibility is compatible with determinism. Thus, an additional and important
lesson to be drawn from the discussion in Section 2 is that, given Edwards’s own metaphysical
commitments, it turns out that a crucial premise in his defence of compatibilism is undermined.
16    :  

providence. Section 2 describes the Edwardsian view; Section 3 describes the

Molinist view.⁶
Both of the views described in Sections 2 and 3 come with substantial and
controversial metaphysical commitments. But in each case, the commitments in
question are ones that have been ably defended and taken very seriously in the
contemporary literature. I do not, in the end, claim that any of these commitments
ought to be accepted; nor do I claim that they must be accepted by anyone who
wishes to endorse both DOS and MR. For all I am willing to commit myself to
here, it might be that there are other ways of reconciling DOS and MR, and it
might also be that none of the ways of reconciling those two doctrines is worth the
intuitive price. My aim, again, is simply to show in some detail that there are ways
of reconciling those doctrines, and that those represent ‘live options’ that cannot
simply be dismissed out of hand.

1. Theories of Original Sin

I will begin by providing a brief sketch of the various lines along which the central
claims of DOS (i.e. S1 and S2) have been fleshed out.⁷ The purpose of doing so is to
help make it clear where on the landscape of possible views the views developed in
Sections 2 and 3 will fall. Doing so will also make it clear just how hard it is to
generate a plausible theory of original sin that avoids conflict with MR. I will
organize my discussion around three questions that might be raised about S1 and
S2: (i) What is the nature of the corruption mentioned in S1? (ii) What is it that we
are guilty of from birth? and (iii) Is what we are guilty of something that we have
done, or not? It is perhaps tempting to think that once the answer to (ii) is settled,
the answer to (iii) will be settled as well. But, as we shall see, that is not the case.

1.1 The Nature of Our Corruption

S1 says that all human beings (except three or four) are corrupt. But there are at
least two different ways of understanding the nature of this corruption. On one
view, Adam’s first sin brought about a fundamental change in human nature.
Whereas human beings prior to the Fall lacked the inclination to disobey God, all

⁶ In calling these theories ‘Edwardsian’ and ‘Molinist’, respectively, I do not at all mean to suggest
that Edwards, Molina, or any of their contemporary followers would necessarily endorse these theories
as I am developing them. Edwards, Molina, and their followers might be blamed for saying things that
inspired and encouraged the development of these views, but that is all.
⁷ In addition to the sources cited throughout this section, the following works have influenced the
discussion of different theories of original sin in this section: Adams 1999; Kelly 1978; Quinn 1984,
1997; Urban 1995; and Wiley 2002.
      17

human beings after the Fall possess such an inclination. Thus, for example,
Augustine writes:

Man’s nature, indeed, was created at first faultless and without any sin; but that
nature of man in which every one is born from Adam, now wants the Physician,
because it is not sound. All good qualities, no doubt, which it still possesses in its
make, life, senses, intellect, it has of the most High God, its Creator and Maker.
But the flaw, which darkens and weakens all those natural goods, so that it has
need of illumination and healing, it has not contracted from its blameless
Creator—but from that original sin, which it committed by free will.
(On Nature and Grace, ch. 3 in Augustine 1999: 122)

And Calvin:

Original sin, then, may be defined as the hereditary corruption and depravity of
our nature. This reaches every part of the soul, makes us abhorrent to God’s
wrath and produces in us what Scripture calls works of the flesh. . . . Our nature
is not only completely empty of goodness, but so full of every kind of wrong that
it is always active. Those who call it lust use an apt word, provided it is also
stated . . . that everything which is in man, from the intellect to the will, from
the soul to the body, is defiled and imbued with this lust. To put it briefly,
the whole man is in himself nothing but lust.
(Institutes of the Christian Religion, bk 2, ch. 1, sec. 8 in Calvin 1986: 90–1)

This sort of view was also endorsed by Luther, and it has been the typical view of
theologians in the Reformed tradition.⁸
Another view, however, maintains that the change brought about by the Fall
was not so much the positive addition of a new kind of wickedness to a once
pristine human nature, but rather the withdrawal of a certain kind of grace that
made perfect obedience to God possible. On Anselm’s view, for example, original
sin is the loss of original justice, where original justice is the God-given rightness of
will that Adam and Eve possessed but lost for themselves and their posterity when
they sinned.⁹ Aquinas likewise identifies original sin with the loss of original

⁸ See, e.g. Luther 1976: 95; Edwards, The Great Christian Doctrine of Original Sin Defended (in
Edwards 1992: 146ff.); Shedd 2003: 577ff.; Turretin 1992: 639–40. Cf. also The Formula of Concord, Art.
I (in Schaff 1998b: 97–106); The Heidelberg Catechism, Questions 4–11 (in Schaff 1998b: 308–11); and
The Westminster Confession, ch. VI (in Schaff 1998b: 615–17).
⁹ See his The Virgin Conception and Original Sin (1969). As Jeff Brower explains,
Rightness of will, as Anselm conceives of it, is not something that rational creatures, at least in
the first instance, are responsible for acquiring; rather it is something they are responsible for
preserving once it has been given. In this respect, rightness of will, on Anselm’s view is more like
what Aquinas and other medieval eudaimonists would call a theological virtue than it is like one
of the cardinal virtues—that is to say, it is something supernaturally infused as opposed to
18    :  

justice, but he characterizes original justice not as a sort of God-given rectitude of

will possessed by our first ancestors, but rather as a supernatural gift that made it
possible for Adam and Eve to appropriately order the various inclinations that (in
us) give rise to sin. Insofar as they were, in Eden, capable of ordering their
inclinations appropriately, Adam and Eve were able to refrain from sinning.
The corruption brought about by the Fall was the disordering of our inclinations
as a result of the withdrawal of the supernatural gift.¹⁰ This sort of view, according
to which original sin consists in the loss of a supernatural gift rather than the
acquisition of a new kind of corruption in our nature is sometimes characterized,
by way of contrast with the Augustinian view, as one according to which human
nature is wounded rather than totally corrupted.¹¹ The major confessions of the
Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churches strongly suggest this sort of
view, and it was also tentatively endorsed by James Arminius.¹² So far as I can tell,
the Edwardsian development of DOS described in Section 2 is neutral between the
Augustinian and Anselmian views. As we shall see in Section 3, the Molinist
development of DOS can be made to accommodate both views as well.

1.2 For What Are We Guilty?

According to S2, we are guilty from birth. But for what are we guilty? As far as
I know, all of the existing theories of original sin give one of two answers: (i) we are
guilty both for the corruption that makes it inevitable that we will fall into sin, as
well as for the particular sin of Adam that caused that corruption, or (ii) we are
guilty only for our corruption. The difference between these two answers is
commonly characterized as a difference with respect to the question whether
the imputation of Adam’s sin to his posterity is immediate (answer (i)) or mediate

acquired by repeated action. Indeed, according to Anselm, God created rational nature—both
angels and the first human beings—with rightness of will precisely because they could not be
happy without it. . . . According to traditional Christian doctrine, the first human beings and
certain of the angels fell from grace by sinning. Anselm explains their sin in terms of their
abandoning, or failing to preserve, rightness for its own sake. . . . [I]n the case of the bad angels
(i.e., Satan and his cohorts), Anselm thinks their loss is permanent or irretrievable. In case of the
first human beings, however, and their descendants (to whom the original loss was transmitted),
Anselm thinks that, at least prior to death, their rightness of will can be recovered—though here
again the recovery is primarily a matter of grace (co-operating with free will) rather than the
result of any effort on the part of individual human beings. (Brower 2004: 249–50)

¹⁰ See, especially, Aquinas, Summa Theologica, pt 1 of pt 2, Q. 82, Art. 2 in Aquinas 1945: 674–5.
¹¹ Cf. The Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd edn, secs 400 and 405 (Catholic Church 1994: 112,
114–15).
¹² See The Canons and Dogmatic Decrees of the Council of Trent, Fifth Session (in Schaff 1998a:
83–89); The Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd edn, secs. 400 and 405 (Catholic Church 1994: 112,
114–15); The Orthodox Confession of the Eastern Church, Questions 23 and 24 (in Mohila 1975); The
Acts and Decrees of the Synod of Jerusalem, ch. VI, Decrees VI, XIV, and XVI (Orthodox Eastern
Church 1899: 118–119, 132–5, 139–43); and Arminius 1999: 150–7, 374–6, 717.
      19

(answer (ii)).¹³ On both views, our own corruption is a consequence of Adam’s sin
and something for which we are guilty. Thus, either way we bear guilt as a result of
something Adam has done. The difference is that answer (i), but not answer (ii),
maintains that we are directly accountable for Adam’s first sin.
Augustine, Aquinas, Luther, and Calvin all explicitly endorsed the doctrine of
immediate imputation, and endorsement of that view is typical of theologians in
the Reformed tradition. It is harder to find theologians who explicitly endorse the
doctrine of mediate imputation. Anselm does.¹⁴ So, too, does the seventeenth-
century Reformed theologian, Joshua La Place, though his view was formally
condemned at the National Synod of France in 1645, and condemned again
shortly thereafter by other churches and theologians throughout Europe in the
seventeenth century.¹⁵ The view is also sometimes, though I think mistakenly,
taken to be the official position of the Roman Catholic Church.¹⁶ The Molinist
view that I will develop in Section 3 is also committed to it.
The main question that arises in connection with the doctrine of immediate
imputation is the question of how we can be guilty of Adam’s sin given the apparent
fact that none of us is identical to Adam and none of us existed when Adam sinned.
Here there are only two possibilities. One is to deny the appearance, maintaining
that we are guilty of Adam’s sin because there is some meaningful sense in which we
ourselves committed or participated in the committing of that sin. The other is to
claim that it is somehow just for God to impute to us guilt for a sin in whose
commission we did not participate. Adapting some terminology from G. C.
Berkouwer (1971, ch. 12), we may refer to views that embrace the first possibility
as Personal Guilt (PG) theories and to views that embrace the second as Alien Guilt
(AG) theories. I will discuss these views in reverse order in Sections 1.3 and 1.4.
The doctrine of mediate imputation, by contrast, faces only the general problem
of explaining how we could justly be held responsible for a state of affairs that we
could not have prevented. In other words, it faces only the general problem of
apparent conflict with MR. Notably, Anselm seems content to reject MR.¹⁷

¹³ Cf. Crisp 2003 and Quinn 1997 for useful discussion.

¹⁴ See The Virgin Conception and Original Sin, ch. 22 (in Anselm 1969: 197–8).
¹⁵ See Hodge 2001, vol. 2: 205ff. for useful discussion.
¹⁶ See Murray 1955: 153–5. There, Murray claims (again, I think mistakenly) to find the position
expressed in the Decree on Original Sin produced by the Council of Trent.
¹⁷ In defending the view that even infants deserve condemnation by God, he writes:
If you think it over . . . this sentence of condemnation of infants is not very different from the
verdict of human beings. Suppose, for example, some man and his wife were exalted to some
great dignity and estate, by no merit of their own but by favor alone, then both together
inexcusably commit a grave crime, and on account of it are justly dispossessed and reduced to
slavery. Who will say that the children whom they generate after their condemnation should not
be subjected to the same slavery, but rather should be gratuitously put in possession of the goods
which their parents deservedly lost? Our first ancestors and their offspring are in such a
condition: having been justly condemned to be cast from happiness to misery for their fault,
they bring forth their offspring in the same banishment.
(The Virgin Conception and Original Sin, ch. 28 in Anselm 1969: 209–10)
See also chapter 22 of the same work.
20    :  

1.3 AG Theories

AG theories of original sin maintain that we are guilty both for the corruption of
our nature and for the sin of Adam, and that we are so guilty despite the fact that
we in no way participated in the committing of Adam’s sin. The main challenge
for such a theory is to explain how it could possibly be just for God to hold a
person guilty for a sin she did not commit. The standard response to this challenge
is to claim that we are guilty for Adam’s sin because Adam is the federal head, or
representative of the human race. The basic idea is that Adam represented us
before God in much the same way that a head of state might represent one nation
before another. If a head of state commits a crime against another nation, the
nation she represents may well be implicated in that crime and be held account-
able for it. War might ensue, and it might turn out that peace can be restored only
if the nation whose representative started the war manages to find another
representative who can behave in such a way as to rectify the trouble. Thus, for
example, Francis Turretin explains:

[T]he bond between Adam and his posterity is twofold: (1) natural, as he is the
father, and we are his children; (2) political and forensic, as he was the prince and
representative head of the whole human race. Therefore the foundation of
imputation is not only the natural connection which exists between us and
Adam (since, in that case, all his sins might be imputed to us), but mainly the
moral and federal (in virtue of which God entered into covenant with him as our
head). Hence Adam stood in that sin not as a private person, but as a public and
representative person—representing all his posterity in that action and whose
demerit equally pertains to all.
For Adam to be a public and representative person, it was not necessary that that
office should be committed to him by us, so that he might act as much in our
name as in his own. It is sufficient that there intervened the most just ordination
of God according to which he willed Adam to be the root and head of the whole
human race, who therefore not only for himself only but also for his (posterity)
should receive or lose the goods. (Turretin 1992: 616)

This view is known as the federalist theory of original guilt. It is endorsed by many
theologians in the Reformed tradition (including Turretin) and also tends to be
endorsed by theologians in the Arminian tradition (e.g. John Wesley and Richard
Watson).¹⁸

¹⁸ Wesley, The Doctrine of Original Sin, According to Scripture, Reason, and Experience, especially pt
3, sec. 6 (in Wesley 1978: 332–4); Watson 1834: 52ff.
      21

Not surprisingly, federalism is typically coupled with a doctrine of the atone-

ment according to which Jesus counts as another representative of the human
race—a ‘second Adam’—whose behaviour, unlike Adam’s, is sufficient to restore
us to fellowship with God if only we embrace him as our representative. On this
view of the atonement, just as the guilt of Adam is imputed to all of us from birth,
so too the righteousness of Jesus is imputed to those who embrace him. It is
perhaps worth noting that the imputed-righteousness theory of the atonement
does not go hand in hand with the federalist or any other AG theory of original
sin. That is, one can and many do accept the former without accepting the latter.
But, obviously enough, it is hard to see why one should find the imputation of
alien guilt objectionable if one is not inclined to object to the imputation of ‘alien
righteousness’.
But the AG theory, as it stands, is in obvious tension with MR. For nothing in
the theory even so much as suggests that there was anything that any of us could
have done that would have prevented Adam’s sin. In other words, nothing in the
theory suggests any reason for thinking that A1 is false. But, again, A1 together
with DOS flatly contradicts MR.
Is it possible to produce a credible AG theory that is inconsistent with A1?
I doubt it. One might be tempted to suggest that we have counterfactual power
over Adam’s sin. To say that we all have counterfactual power over Adam’s sin is
to say that, for each of us, there is something we could have done such that, had we
done it, Adam would never have sinned. If we do have such power, then A1 is
surely false. But, leaving aside worries about the very possibility of our having
counterfactual power over the past,¹⁹ the problem with this proposal is that there
is absolutely no reason—and certainly no reason arising out of the AG theory—for
thinking that it is true. At best, then, it could only be an ad hoc addition to the AG
theory. Alternatively, one might be tempted to resist A1 by arguing that there is
some sense in which we were all present and able to act at the time of Adam’s sin.
If that were true, then we would at least be moving in the direction of a reason to
think that A1 is false; and, as we will see shortly, there are various stories one
might tell that imply that we were present and able to act at the time of Adam’s
sin. Unfortunately, however, all of the extant stories of this sort are either
incredible or have the implication that we all actually participated in Adam’s sin
(as some PG theories, but no AG theories, maintain). Thus, it is doubtful that any
of these stories could be used to supplement the AG theory in such a way as to
make even remotely plausible the denial of A1.
It is worth noting that, on the federalist theory, since part of the explanation for
our guilt from birth is the fact that Adam represents us, and since it is within our

¹⁹ In Section 3 we will consider another view that presupposes that we can have counterfactual
power over the past, and there I will briefly explain why many philosophers think that worries about
this presupposition ought to be left aside.
22    :  

power to do something—namely, embrace Jesus as our representative—that will

make it the case that Adam no longer represents us, it is to some extent up to us
whether we remain guilty for Adam’s sin. But, as the quotation from Turretin
makes clear, the federalist theory still takes it for granted that the fact that Adam
represented us from birth was not something we could have prevented. Thus, it
looks as if those who wish to endorse both DOS and MR must endorse some sort
of PG theory of original guilt.

1.4 PG Theories

The main challenge faced by someone who wants to say that we bear personal guilt
for the sin of Adam is to explain how we could possibly have participated in the
committing of Adam’s sin.
One way of meeting this challenge is to endorse a view according to which all of
us existed as distinct individuals at the time of Adam and somehow participated in
or concurred with Adam’s sin. One way to motivate this sort of view is to endorse
a doctrine of pre-existing souls.²⁰ Another way is to urge a metaphysically loaded
reading of the suggestion (in Heb. 7:9–10) that Levi was present as an agent in the
loins of Abraham, and then to extend this idea to all members of the human race,
claiming that everyone was present as an agent in the loins of Adam.²¹ But these
sorts of views are neither plausible nor popular.
More popular are views according to which we do not co-exist as distinct
individuals with Adam, but we do somehow enjoy a certain kind of metaphysical
unity with him. Here we have two main views, one sometimes, though perhaps
mistakenly, credited to Augustine; the other associated with, among others,
Aquinas and Edwards. The former view goes under the label ‘Realism’, and its
chief and most explicit proponent is W. G. T. Shedd (2003). The latter view, the
one associated with Aquinas and Edwards, is what is sometimes called the
‘Organic Whole’ theory. I will discuss each in turn.
In three of his anti-Pelagian works, Augustine makes remarks that suggest the
rather startling view that somehow we are Adam, and that not just Adam but
human nature itself committed the sin that brought about our corruption. For
example:

²⁰ Shedd attributes a view of this sort to Ashbel Green (Shedd 2003: 447). Origen also famously
endorsed a doctrine of pre-existing souls, according to which human souls sinned ‘before their birth in
the body’ and ‘contracted a certain amount of guilt’ which, in turn, is supposed to explain at least some
of the distribution of pain and suffering in the world (see Origen, De Principiis, bk 3, ch. 3, in Origen
1999: 336–7). But it is not clear whether or to what extent Origen’s doctrine of pre-existence is
supposed to be connected with the doctrine of original sin.
²¹ Berkouwer (1971: 440ff.) and Murray (1956: 26) both briefly discuss views of this sort without
citing references. Anselm (1969: 199ff.) also seems to take this sort of view seriously.
      23

By the evil will of that one man all sinned in him, since all were that one man,
from whom, therefore, they individually derived original sin.
(On Marriage and Concupiscence, bk 2, ch. 15 in
Augustine 1999: 288; emphasis mine)
All good qualities, no doubt, which [human nature] still possesses in its make,
life, senses, intellect, it has of the Most High God, its Creator and Maker. But the
flaw, which darkens and weakens all those natural goods, so that it has need of
illumination and healing, it has not contracted from its blameless Creator—but
from that original sin, which it committed by free will.
(On Nature and Grace, ch. 3 in Augustine 1999: 122; emphasis mine)

Anselm likewise makes remarks along these lines:

Each and every descendant of Adam is at once a human being by creation and
Adam by generation, and a person by the individuality which distinguishes him
from others. . . . But there is no doubt from what source each and every individual
is bound by that debt which we are discussing. It certainly does not arise from his
being human or from his being a person . . . [for] then Adam, before he sinned,
would have to have been bound by this debt, because he was a human being and a
person. But this is most absurd. The only reason left, then, for the individual’s
being under obligation is that he is Adam, yet not simply that he is Adam, but
that he is Adam the sinner.
(The Virgin Conception and Original Sin, ch. 10 in
Anselm 1969: 183–4; emphasis mine)

According to Shedd, what Augustine and Anselm are both trying to express with
these rather cryptic remarks is roughly this: Human beings have two modes of
existence. We can exist as individuals, or we can exist en masse as a ‘single specific
nature not yet individualized by propagation’ (Shedd 2003: 446). When Adam
sinned, all of Adam’s posterity were literally present in Adam in the latter way, as
the undifferentiated human nature. Moreover, as Augustine suggests, it was as
much that nature as Adam who committed Adam’s sin. Human nature did not act
consciously (not being the sort of thing that can be conscious); but, he thinks, the
nature of its union with Adam and Eve is sufficient to make it blameworthy for
their crime. And since all of humanity together is nothing other than human
nature as ‘individualized by propagation’, we too are blameworthy.²²

²² As I have already indicated, however, Anselm explicitly (and repeatedly) denies that anyone other
than Adam bears personal guilt for Adam’s sin. For example, in chapter 22 of The Virgin Conception
and Original Sin, he says ‘I do not think the sin of Adam passes down to infants in such a way that they
ought to be punished for it as if each one of them had personally committed it, as Adam did’ (Anselm
1969: 197). On Anselm’s view, as I have already said, what we are guilty of is simply the corruption of
our nature. The passage quoted above, and cited by Shedd (2003: 445), is from a chapter wherein he
24    :  

Shedd’s view is a heroic attempt to reconcile the claim that each of us is to

blame for Adam’s sin with the principle that no one can justly be blamed for a sin
in whose commission she did not participate. But even if his view could be made
plausible (which seems unlikely), it still would not fare well with respect to MR. It
might turn out on his view that human nature ‘not yet individualized by propa-
gation’ could have prevented Adam’s sin; but it will not at all follow from this that
any of us could have prevented Adam’s sin. (For example: The unruly mob could
have prevented the riot; but it does not follow that Fred, who was part of the mob,
could have prevented the riot.) Thus, though Shedd’s view might turn out to be of
some help in reconciling DOS with some of our moral intuitions, it will not help us
to save MR.
The ‘Organic Whole’ theory faces similar problems. The idea, in short, is that
humanity, human nature, or the human race is an organic whole with the
following properties: (a) it is a moral agent; (b) every individual human being is
a part or instance of it; and (c) it committed the sin of Adam by virtue of having a
part or instance—namely, Adam—that committed that sin. On this view, it is by
virtue of being parts, instances, or members of this whole that individual human
beings other than Adam participated in Adam’s sin and share the guilt for it. But,
as is clear even from this rough sketch, the obvious challenge for the view is to
explain in what sense, if any, the non-Adamic parts or instances of the whole
could have prevented the sin of Adam. Prima facie, they could not have.
The problem is seen most clearly in Aquinas’s version of the view. Aquinas
develops his version by way of analogy. Roughly, the analogy is as follows: If you
move your hand in such a way as to commit a crime, we won’t blame your hand as
such; but your hand will share in your guilt and will justly suffer the consequences
of your sin. Your hand shares in your guilt because it is a part of the whole person
who committed the sin, and it is a part that was involved in the sin.²³ Likewise, all
human beings together comprise an organic whole, and human nature itself was
involved in Adam’s sin. Indeed, says Aquinas,

[A]ll men born of Adam may be considered as one man inasmuch as they have
one common nature, which they receive from their first parents; even as in civil
matters, all who are members of one community are reputed as one body, and the
whole community as one man. Indeed, Porphyry says that by sharing the same

attempts to explain how we could be guilty of that, not how we could be guilty of Adam’s sin. (Of
course, the claim that each of us is Adam is in superficial tension with the claim, clearly implied by the
remark from ch. 22, that none of us committed the sin of Adam. But I will not attempt to sort that out
here.)

²³ Cf. Summa Theologica, pt 2, sec. 1, Q. 81, Art. 1 (in Aquinas 1945: 664–7), and De Malo, Q. 4,
Art. 1 (in Davies 2001: 327–41).
      25

species, many men are one man. Accordingly the multitude of men, born of
Adam, are as so many members of one body.
(Summa Theologica, pt II, sec. 1, Q. 81, Art. 1 in
Aquinas 1945: 666; emphasis in original)

Thus, when Adam sinned, Humanity—the body of which all human beings are
parts—sinned.²⁴ And just as all of your parts share in the guilt of whatever sins
proceed from your will and involve your whole body, so too all of the parts or
members of Humanity share in the guilt of this one sin that proceeded from
Adam’s will and involved human nature; for it was by Adam’s will that Humanity
committed that sin.
Of course, one worry with this analogy is that it looks like it might imply that
more than just the guilt for Adam’s first sin could be imputed to Humanity and
thus, ultimately, to everyone. Why not Adam’s second sin, for example? Or, for
that matter, why not my sins or yours? Aquinas is aware of this worry, and his
response, in short, is that only the guilt for Adam’s first sin can be imputed to
Humanity (and thus to everyone) because Adam’s first sin was the only sin that
involved human nature as such.
Aquinas’s view is more satisfying than Shedd’s if for no other reason than that it
is somewhat easier to see how all human beings could be at least analogically
treated as parts of a common whole than it is to see how we all could exist in an
‘unindividualized’ way in a single person. But it still leaves important questions
unanswered. For example, it is hard to see why Adam’s first sin, and that sin alone,
would involve all of human nature in the way required by the analogy. Even if we
grant that there is a sense in which your hand, but not your foot, is to blame for
sins you commit with your hand, still it is hard to see why Adam’s first sin was a
sin committed with his whole nature, as it were, rather than a sin that simply
involved him as an individual. Most important for our purposes, however, is the
fact that, as indicated above, Aquinas’s view lacks the resources to explain how we
could have prevented the sin of Adam. Indeed, if we take the analogy seriously, his
view straightforwardly implies that we could not have prevented Adam’s sin.
According to the analogy, individual human beings other than Adam are related
to the impetus behind Adam’s sin as a hand is related to a particular movement of
the will of the person of which it is a part. But then, just as your hand is powerless

²⁴ It is not clear to me how seriously Aquinas really wants to take the idea that there is a physical
object composed of every human being who ever did or ever will live. Some of his remarks suggest that
the idea might just be a metaphor—that it is not literally the case that Adam and the rest of humanity
comprise a single body, but that things are only ‘as if ’ that were true. But if this is so, then it is hard to
see how the hand analogy manages to illuminate the doctrine of imputation. For, after all, the main
initial question about the claim that we bear guilt for Adam’s sin is how it can be just for God to treat us
as if we had committed that sin when, to all appearances, we did not commit it. And it is hardly helpful
to answer this question by saying simply that God is also treating us as if we were members with Adam
of a single body, even though we are not. But for now I will simply ignore this concern.
26    :  

to prevent any particular exercise of your will, so too we must be powerless to

prevent the exercise of Adam’s will that resulted in the Fall. Thus, Aquinas’s view,
like Shedd’s, is of no help in preserving MR.
We come now, at last, to Edwards’s theory (though, as I will note in Section 2, it
is ultimately only on one of several possible interpretations that his view properly
counts as a version of the Organic Whole theory).²⁵ Famously, Edwards appeals to
a sort of divine command theory of persistence over time to account for the
possibility of our bearing guilt for Adam’s sin. I will save the details of his view for
the next section; but what will become clear in that section is that, on either of the
two main ways of fleshing out Edwards’s view, conflict with MR can easily be
avoided. Edwards, of course, has no interest in reconciling his views with MR. But
the fact that his view of original sin is consistent with MR constitutes at least an ad
hominem argument against his claim (in Freedom of the Will) that attention to the
doctrine of original sin provides reason to think that MR is false.²⁶

2. Jonathan Edwards and the Doctrine of Original Guilt

As I have already indicated, there are at least two different ways in which
Edwards’s theory of imputation may be fleshed out. On one way of developing
it, Edwards’s view counts as a version of the Organic Whole theory, is committed
to a theory of persistence that I’ll refer to below as ‘worm theory’, and suffers from
some of the same problems that Aquinas’s view suffers from. On the other way of
developing it, there is no commitment to worm theory, and the main problems
associated with the Organic Whole theory do not arise.
I will begin in Section 2.1 by presenting, largely in his own words, the main lines
of Edwards’s view about how it is that we bear guilt for Adam’s sin. In Section 2.2,
I will digress briefly and describe several different theories of persistence. I will
argue that, contrary to what seems widely to be taken for granted, there is no
compelling reason to attribute to Edwards belief in a worm theoretic account of

²⁵ Interestingly, Edwards’s view is often, perhaps even typically, characterized as a federalist theory;
but I think that this characterization is mistaken. (But see Crisp 2003 for a persuasively argued
opposing view.) Part of the problem is that Edwards seems to appeal rather freely to various models
for understanding Adam’s relation to the rest of the human race. (For example, Charles Hodge 2001:
207–8 finds not only an affirmation of federalism in Edwards, but also an outright endorsement of
Shedd’s realist theory.) The theory I will present here, however, is the carefully worked-out view that he
offers in direct response to the question of how it could be just for God to impute Adam’s sin to his
posterity. And I think that that view is not properly understood as a federalist view, even though it is
consistent with the claim that Adam is the federal head of the human race. The reason is that, whereas
federalism takes it that it is Adam’s federal headship that explains the imputation of guilt to the rest
of humanity, Edwards’s response to the question of how it could be just for God to impute Adam’s sin
to his posterity takes it that something else—a kind of metaphysical unity with Adam—is the basis for
the imputation.
²⁶ Pt 3, sec. 4, in Edwards 1992: 47–51.
      27

persistence. Then, in Sections 2.3 and 2.4, I will describe in more detail the two
different ways of fleshing out Edwards’s theory of imputation. We will see that
both ways provide theories of imputation that are consistent with MR, but I will
argue that the one that carries no commitment to worm theory has distinct
advantages over its rival.

2.1 Edwards’s Theory of Imputation

Edwards’s theory of imputation is presented in its fullest detail in the last part of
The Great Christian Doctrine of Original Sin Defended (in Edwards 1992).
Whereas Aquinas uses the metaphor of a body in developing his version of the
Organic Whole theory, Edwards relies more heavily on the metaphor of a tree. It is
worth quoting him at length since, despite the fact that his theory of original sin is
well-known and widely discussed, it is often mischaracterized.
He begins thus:

I think, it would go far towards directing us to the more clear conception and
right statement of this affair, were we steadily to bear this in mind: that God, in
every step of his proceeding with Adam, in relation to the covenant or constitu-
tion established with him, looked on his posterity as being one with him. And
though he dealt more immediately with Adam, it yet was as the head of the whole
body, and the root of the whole tree; and in his proceedings with him, he dealt
with all the branches, as if they had been then existing in their root.
From which it will follow, that both guilt, or exposedness to punishment, and
also depravity of heart, came upon Adam’s posterity just as they came upon him,
as much as if he and they had all co-existed, like a tree with many branches;
allowing only for the difference necessarily resulting from the place Adam stood
in, as head or root of the whole. Otherwise, it is as if, in every step of proceeding,
every alteration in the root had been attended, at the same instant, with the same
alterations throughout the whole tree, in each individual branch. I think, this will
naturally follow on the supposition of there being a constituted oneness or
identity of Adam and his posterity in this affair.
(Edwards 1992: 220; emphasis in original)

Then, in a note, he goes on to develop the tree metaphor more fully as follows:

My meaning, in the whole of what has been said, may be illustrated thus: Let us
suppose that Adam and all his posterity had co-existed, and that his posterity had
been, through a law of nature established by the Creator, united to him, some-
thing as the branches of a tree are united to the root, or the members of the body
to the head, so as to constitute as it were one complex person, or one moral
28    :  

whole: so that by the law of union there should have been a communion and co-
existence in acts and affections; all jointly participating, and all concurring, as
one whole, in the disposition and action of the head: as we see in the body
natural, the whole body is affected as the head is affected; and the whole body
concurs when the head acts. Now, in this case, all the branches of mankind, by
the constitution of nature and law of union, would have been affected just as
Adam, their common root, was affected. When the heart of a root, by a full
disposition, committed the first sin, the hearts of all the branches would have
concurred; and when the root, in consequence of this, became guilty, so would all
the branches; and when the root, as a punishment of the sin committed, was
forsaken of God, in like manner would it have fared with all the branches; and
when the root, in consequence of this, was confirmed in permanent depravity,
the case would have been the same with all the branches; and as new guilt on the
soul of Adam would have been consequent on this, so also would it have been
with his moral branches. And thus all things, with relation to evil disposition,
guilt, pollution, and depravity, would exist, in the same order and dependence, in
each branch, as in the root. (Edwards 1992: 221, n.; emphasis in original)

Here we are just invited to imagine that ‘through a law of nature’ Adam and his
posterity are unified as parts of a single moral agent. But later in the essay Edwards
makes it clear (a) that he endorses a theory about laws of nature according to
which laws are just divine decrees, (b) that he endorses a theory about persistence
according to which facts about persistence depend solely on divine decrees, and
(c) that, by divine decree, Adam and his posterity are ‘one’ in the same sense in
which a sapling and the tree that it grows into are one. Thus:

Some things are entirely distinct, and very diverse, which yet are so united by the
established law of the Creator, that by virtue of that establishment, they are in a
sense one. Thus a tree, grown great, and a hundred years old, is one plant with the
little sprout, that first came out of the ground from whence it grew, and has been
continued in constant succession; though it is now so exceeding diverse, many
thousand times bigger, and of a very different form, and perhaps not one atom
the very same: yet God, according to an established law of nature, has in a
constant succession communicated to it many of the same qualities, and most
important properties, as if it were one. It has been his pleasure, to constitute an
union in these respects, and for these purposes, naturally leading us to look upon
all as one. . . .
And there is no identity or oneness [between the successive stages of a created
substance] but what depends on the arbitrary constitution of the Creator; who by
his wise sovereign establishment so unites these successive new effects, that he
treats them as one, by communicating to them like properties, relations, and
circumstances; and so, leads us to regard and treat them as one. When I call this
an arbitrary constitution, I mean, that it is a constitution which depends on
      29

nothing but the divine will; which divine will depends on nothing but the divine
wisdom. In this sense, the whole course of nature, with all that belongs to it, all its
laws and methods, constancy and regularity, continuance and proceeding, is an
arbitrary constitution. In this sense, the continuance of the very being of the
world and all its parts, as well as the manner of continued being, depends entirely
on an arbitrary constitution. (Edwards 1992: 224; emphasis in original)

So, on Edwards’s view, the unity that obtains between Adam and his posterity is
metaphysically on a par with the unity that obtains between the successive stages
of any ordinary persisting thing.
But here we encounter a fork in the road; for there are two different ways of
unpacking the claim that the unity that obtains between Adam and his posterity is
metaphysically on a par with the unity that obtains between successive stages of
ordinary persisting things. I will refer to these two ways of characterizing Adam’s
unity with his posterity as the Organic Whole theory and the Fission theory.
According to the Organic Whole theory, Adam and his posterity are all together
parts of a single, spatiotemporally extended object. On this view, Adam and his
posterity comprise successive stages of a persisting individual which is (in some
sense) a moral agent and which is such that all of its stages, or temporal parts, are
personally accountable at least for the one salient crime committed by its Adamic
parts. I said earlier that it is only under one interpretation of his view that
Edwards’s theory counts as a version of the Organic Whole theory, and this is
it. The Fission theory, on the other hand, says that Adam and his posterity are
distinct individuals who share a common temporal stage or set of temporal stages
(namely, whatever stages of Adam were involved in Adam’s sin, and perhaps all of
the preceding ones as well). On this view, Adam undergoes fission at the time of
his first sin, splitting into billions of different people, only one of whom gets
kicked out of Eden, fathers Cain and Abel, and does the various other deeds
traditionally attributed to Adam. As we will see more clearly in Sections 2.3 and
2.4, the Organic Whole theory presupposes the worm theoretic account of per-
sistence, but the Fission theory may be developed independently of that assump-
tion. But first I want briefly to distinguish several different theories of persistence
and explain why there is no compelling reason to attribute to Edwards belief in the
worm theoretic account.

2.2 Theories of Persistence

Notably, though Edwards is commonly cited as a proponent of the view that

familiar material objects are four-dimensionally extended ‘spacetime worms’,²⁷

²⁷ Chisholm (1976: 138–9), Helm (1997, ch. 7), and Sider (2001: 75) are among those who
characterize him as holding this view.
30    :  

the whole of his view as presented above is consistent with an alternative account
of persistence. Let me explain.
An object persists just in case it exists at multiple times. But what does it take
for an object to exist at multiple times? A fairly commonsensical view about
persistence says that existing at multiple times is just a matter of being wholly
present at more than one time. In other words, an object persists just in case the
whole thing exists at more than one time. Persisting in this way is typically referred
to as ‘enduring’; and so the corresponding theory of persistence is typically called
‘endurantism’. According to endurantism, every moment of an object’s career is
occupied by the object itself.
The main rival to endurantism is ‘perdurantism’, which I will simply charac-
terize as the thesis that objects persist without enduring. According to the most
familiar version of perdurantism—I’ll call it ‘worm theory’, for reasons that will
become clear shortly—objects persist by having distinct temporal parts at every
moment at which they exist. On this view, material objects are extended in time
just as they are extended in space; and just as objects have distinct spatial parts in
every subregion of the total region of space that they fill at a time, so too they have
numerically distinct temporal parts at every time or period of time in their careers.
An object exists at a time, then, just in case it has a temporal part at that time; and
an object exists at multiple times just in case it has proper temporal parts at
multiple times. A temporal part T of an object X, according to the common
intuitive definition, is just an object that exists for part of the total duration that
constitutes X’s career, and that has X’s spatial boundaries at all of the times at
which T exists.
As it is usually fleshed out, worm theory says that whatever name we use for an
ordinary material object will typically refer to the four-dimensionally extended
‘spacetime worm’ that fills the entire spacetime region that we would normally say
is filled by the ‘career’ or ‘lifetime’ of that object.²⁸ Thus, for example, the name
‘David Letterman’ typically refers to the four-dimensionally extended object that
fills the region occupied by the event that we would call Letterman’s lifetime; the
expression ‘that table’ refers to the spacetime worm that fills the region occupied
by the event that we would normally characterize as the career of the table in
question; and so on. Attributions of temporary properties to things are to be
analysed in terms of attributions of permanent properties to their temporal parts.
So, for example, to say that Letterman was short but is now tall is just to say that
Letterman has a temporal part that is (eternally) short and another temporal part
that is (eternally) tall, and that the short part is earlier than the tall part.

²⁸ I say ‘typically’ because worm theorists also say that sometimes (perhaps often) familiar referring
expressions refer to temporal parts of things rather than to the things themselves. Thus, for example,
I might now say not only that I am human, but also that I am hungry. In the first case, ‘I’ can clearly
refer to a spacetime worm; but in the second case ‘I’ plausibly refers only to my present temporal part.
      31

But there is another version of perdurantism, usually called ‘stage theory’.

Assume that there are instants of time.²⁹ The stage theorist will agree with the
worm theorist that every instant of an object’s career is occupied by a distinct
thing—a stage of the object. She will probably (though not necessarily) also agree
that the stages of an object compose a larger, temporally extended object, a
spacetime worm of which those stages are temporal parts. But the stage theorist
will not say that ordinary names typically refer to spacetime worms. Rather,
according to stage theory, an ordinary name typically refers to a stage—to what
a worm theorist would call the thing’s current temporal part. Thus, for example,
Letterman is nothing other than whatever momentary Letterman-stage exists
right at this very instant; and this table is just the present table-stage that stands
before us.
According to stage theory, attributions of presently possessed temporary prop-
erties are unproblematic. The claim that Letterman is tall, for example, is not given
an analysis in terms of temporal parts as it is on the doctrine of temporal parts.
Rather, it can simply be taken at face value as expressing the proposition that
Letterman himself (the whole person) has the property of being tall. Past- and
future-tense predications, however, are another story. Letterman was short (when
he was a child); but if Letterman is identical to whatever Letterman-stage presently
exists, then, strictly speaking, Letterman never existed before now and will not
exist later than now. Stage theorists handle this problem by offering a counterpart-
theoretic analysis of temporal predications. In short, the claim is that predications
of the form ‘x was φ’ or ‘x will be φ’ are equivalent, respectively, to claims like:
‘There is a y such that y is φ, y exists at an earlier time than x, and y is a counterpart
of x’; and ‘There is a y such that y is φ, y exists at a later time than x, and y is a
counterpart of x’.³⁰ The counterpart relation is then analysed in terms of relevant
similarity, which, in turn, is normally taken to be a context-sensitive notion. In
most contexts, stage theorists argue, the past stages that are relevantly similar to
you are precisely those that the worm theorist would take to be your past temporal
parts; and these, in turn, are just the stages that an endurantist would identify with
you at various times. Thus, the stage theorist is able, by and large, to affirm

²⁹ There is some question about whether stage theory can be developed apart from the assumption
that there are instants, but I won’t pursue that here. See Stuchlik 2003 for relevant discussion.
³⁰ This way of telling the stage theorist’s story about temporal predications presupposes that merely
past and merely future objects are somehow available to have properties, stand in relations, and fall
within the scope of the quantifier. Can this presupposition be done away with? I think that it can be. As
I see it, stage theory will fare as well (or not) under the supposition that there are no merely past or
future objects as a counterpart theoretic account of modal properties will fare under the supposition
that there are no merely possible objects; and most counterpart theorists think that the supposition that
there are no merely possible objects poses no problem whatsoever for their view. This view is
controversial, but resolving the controversy would take us too far afield. For reasons to doubt that
counterpart theory is viable if there are no merely possible objects (reasons which carry over as reasons
to doubt that stage theory is viable if there are no merely past or future objects), see Merricks 2003.
32    :  

temporal predications (like ‘I was once a baby, but I was never a baby alligator’)
that respect our commonsense intuitions.
Both stage theory and worm theory are typically—and some would say,
necessarily—developed under the supposition that presentism is false, where
presentism is the view that it always has been the case and always will be the
case that there are no non-present objects. Moreover, as I have indicated, stage
theory is normally developed under the assumption that some things have tem-
poral parts. Given this assumption, stage theory, like worm theory, is committed
to the view that composition is not restricted in such a way that only objects
existing at the same time can compose something. But suppose we drop these
assumptions and yet retain stage theory’s counterpart theoretic analysis of tem-
poral predication. We will then have a view according to which, strictly speaking,
(a) nothing that now exists did, does, or will exist, at any time other than the
present, (b) nothing has temporal parts, and yet (c) claims like ‘Fred was once a
child’, ‘this table will probably be here ten minutes from now’, and so on still
express truths. Insofar as stage theory counts as a theory of persistence (which is
debatable, but generally accepted), this view, too, should qualify as a theory of
persistence. It would be a version of perdurantism without any commitment to the
existence of temporal parts.
It is important to point out here that stage theory, unlike worm theory, belongs
to a family of theories about persistence whose members maintain that familiar
objects exist at multiple times in the ‘loose and popular’ sense while at the same
time denying that they do so in the ‘strict and philosophical’ sense. In other words,
stage theory is one among several views according to which it is appropriate and
meaningful, but strictly and literally false, to say of familiar objects that they exist
at more than one time. David Hume endorsed a view like this, as did Anthony
Collins.³¹ Hume is often characterized as a believer in temporal parts. But, in fact,
the view he describes—which seems basically the same as Collins’s view—sounds
a lot more like a view that has, in recent times, been defended by Roderick
Chisholm (1976), who is not a temporal parts theorist. According to Chisholm,
only mereologically constant things (masses of matter, simples, etc.) persist in the
strict sense. But other things (most familiar objects—tables, chairs, human bodies,
etc.) persist in a ‘loose and popular’ sense by virtue of having ‘stand-ins’ at the
various times that constitute what we take to be their careers. Chisholm’s view is
not quite stage theory. For one thing, Chisholm believes that some things endure,
whereas the paradigmatic stage theorist does not. But still, the two views are
similar—and more similar to one another, I think, than either is to worm theory.
I mention all of this because it is relevant to the question of how to interpret
Edwards. Clearly enough, worm theory provides one way—and perhaps the most

³¹ Hume 1978; Collins 1709. See also Bishop Butler’s characterization of Collins’s view, in Butler
1849: 307–8.
      33

natural way—of fleshing out Edwards’s claim that Adam and his posterity are
‘one’ in the way that the root and branches of a tree are one. And this is the view
that is commonly attributed to Edwards, particularly by contemporary philo-
sophers interested in saying something about the history of the worm theoretic
account of persistence. But to move from Edwards’s use of the tree metaphor to
the conclusion that Edwards was definitely presupposing a metaphysic of tem-
poral parts is to rest a lot of interpretive weight on the details of that metaphor;
and it is not clear that this is warranted. For one thing, Edwards’s tree metaphor is
substantially similar to Aquinas’s body metaphor. But no one wants on that basis
to credit Aquinas with endorsing the existence of temporal parts. More import-
antly, we have to reckon with the fact that (a) in the eighteenth century, no
doctrine of temporal parts had yet been clearly articulated (even by Edwards),
(b) the explicit (and non-metaphorical) metaphysical claims that Edwards com-
mits himself to are clearly consistent both with stage theory and with the views of
Collins and Hume, and (c) the views of Collins and Hume were already in
circulation at the time when Edwards wrote his treatise. I will not go so far as to
say that it is a mistake to attribute to Edwards belief in a worm theoretic account of
persistence rather than belief in the Collins/Hume view. But I do think that
attributing to Edwards something like the latter view is at least as reasonable as
attributing to him belief in the worm theoretic account. Indeed, superficially it
seems more reasonable to do so, in light of his remarks to the effect that each
successive stage is a ‘new creation’ that is ‘treated as one’ with its predecessors by
‘arbitrary divine constitution’.
That said, let us now compare the virtues and vices of our two interpretations of
Edwards. I will begin with the Organic Whole theory which, again, carries
commitment to the worm theoretic account of persistence. After that, I will
discuss the Fission theory, which can be developed independently of worm theory.

2.3 The Organic Whole Theory

According to the Organic Whole theory, every human being is part of Humanity,
a four-dimensionally extended object composed of every individual human being,
including Adam. If the worm theory were false, there would be no such thing as
Humanity (or, at any rate, it would not be the sort of thing that could include both
Adam and us as parts). It is for this reason that the Organic Whole theory is
committed to that view. And, on this view, we all bear guilt for Adam’s sin because
we are all temporal parts of Humanity, which committed the sin of Adam by way
of its Adamic temporal part.
But now four questions immediately arise. First, is it really true that we hold the
temporal parts of a person guilty for the sins committed by that person? That is, if
I, by way of my current temporal part, commit a crime, do we really blame any of
34    :  

my temporal parts for that crime? Or do we simply blame me, the entire spacetime
worm? Second, is this view consistent with MR? Third, is it really appropriate to
view Humanity as a thing that acts and is thereby subject to praise and blame?
Fourth, why, if this account is correct, do we bear guilt only for Adam’s first sin
and not (say) for his second sin, or for the sins of people other than Adam? I will
take each of these questions in order.
Consider what a worm theorist will say about ordinary ascriptions of praise and
blame. Initially, one might think that the temporal parts of a person are fitting
objects of praise and blame because those temporal parts have all of the right
equipment, so to speak, to think and act in the ways that ordinary persons do.
Indeed, on worm theory, the only way an ordinary person can think and act is by
having a temporal part that tokens particular thoughts and acts. But is tokening a
thought or act sufficient for having the thought or doing the act? In my view, the
worm theorist should say ‘no’. The reason is that if she says that tokening a
thought or act is sufficient for having the thought or doing the act, then she will be
committed to the view that, for every thought I have, there is at least one other
thinker (namely, the temporal part of me in which it is tokened) that shares that
thought; and for every act I perform, there is at least one other agent that performs
that act.³² But that is absurd. If I am a spacetime worm, then the thoughts tokened
in my temporal parts are my thoughts, not theirs; and the acts tokened by my
temporal parts are my acts, not theirs. But then the responsibility for those acts is
my responsibility, not theirs. And so I am the appropriate object of praise or blame
for my acts, and they are not. To be sure, if I am punished for my acts, my
temporal parts will receive the blows. But that no more implies that they are
punished or blamed for my acts than the fact that my hand is slapped as
punishment for a crime implies that my hand is blamed or punished. In the
case of the hand-slap, I am punished by having damage inflicted upon my hand.
Likewise, in the case of ordinary punishment, the agent is punished by having
something inflicted upon her temporal parts.
So far, then, the Organic Whole theory seems to be in trouble. Note, however,
that the views just expressed depend crucially on the assumption that the temporal
parts of thinkers are not themselves thinkers. But what if this assumption were
false? What if each of our temporal parts were an agent and a thinker in its own
right? Then it would seem that directing condemnation at or inflicting damage
upon a later temporal part for the crime of an earlier one would be a way of
blaming and punishing the later part for what the earlier one had done. Would
this be unjust? Not obviously so. But if not, then it must be the case that those later

³² Some worm theorists are apparently content with this consequence. See, e.g. Lewis (1983: 74ff.).
Donald Smith, (2004, ch. 2) presses this point as an objection against worm theory; but, as the present
discussion makes clear, I doubt that worm theorists are, as such, committed to the view that temporal
parts of thinkers are themselves thinkers.
      35

parts are in some sense guilty of the crime of the earlier parts. Of course, it would
be misleading to say that the later parts bear guilt for the crime in precisely the
same sense in which the earlier temporal parts, or the person as a whole, bear guilt
for it. But perhaps we could do justice to our intuitions here by saying that the
parts that commit the crime, and the person as a whole, bear guilt in the primary
sense whereas the later parts bear guilt for it in a derivative sense (derivative upon
their standing in the relation of genidentity to the criminal parts).
Presumably this is the sort of thing that Edwards (taken as an Organic Whole
theorist) would want to say about Humanity. On this view, Humanity is a moral
person that committed the sin of Adam by way of its Adamic temporal part. Both
Adam and Humanity are blamed for that sin, and both bear guilt in the primary
sense for it. But the post-Adamic parts suffer the consequences of that sin, and
they do so justly. Thus, they bear guilt in the derivative sense for that sin.
But doesn’t this violate MR? Initially, one might think that it does. The later
temporal parts of Humanity could not have prevented Adam’s sin, and yet they
are held guilty. Note, however, that once we have the distinction between primary
and derivative responsibility, MR is ambiguous. We can resolve the ambiguity by
identifying three distinct readings:

(MRa) One is morally responsible in the primary sense for the obtaining of a
state of affairs only if one could have prevented that state of affairs from obtaining.
(MRb) One is morally responsible in the derivative sense for the obtaining of a
state of affairs only if one could have prevented that state of affairs from obtaining.
(MRc) One is morally responsible in any sense for the obtaining of a state of
affairs only if one could have prevented that state of affairs from obtaining.

The Organic Whole theorist who believes that the temporal parts of persons can
themselves be persons can insist that it is MRa rather than MRb or MRc that best
expresses the intuitions that initially led us to endorse MR; and so she can claim
that, once it has been suitably clarified, her view is consistent with MR. It is so
consistent because, though later temporal parts of Humanity are held responsible
for something they could not have prevented, they are not held responsible in the
primary sense.³³ Whether this move will be plausible or not is, of course, debat-
able. But the point is just that once the distinction between primary and derivative
responsibility is on the table, the conflict between the Organic Whole theory and
MR is not at all straightforward.

³³ Note that this strategy enables the Organic Whole theorist to preserve MR without rejecting A1.
Obviously enough, then, the claim (which I have made in several places throughout this chapter) that
the conjunction of DOS and A1 contradicts MR presupposes that MR is not ambiguous in the way
described here.
36    :  

Still, this version of DOS faces some serious problems. For one thing, it seems
wholly inappropriate to view something like Humanity as a moral agent.³⁴ This is
for the same reason that it seems inappropriate to view the temporal parts of
persons as moral agents. Many, if not all, of my post-natal temporal parts have the
right equipment to be moral agents. They have brains (or, at any rate, temporal
parts of brains), and their brains (or brain-parts) token thoughts, acts of will, and
the like. But, so I would say, none of my temporal parts is the subject of its
thoughts, and so the thoughts tokened in my temporal parts are not appropriately
ascribed to them.³⁵ For the same reason, none of my temporal parts are appro-
priately regarded as the agents of the acts of will tokened in them. It is not their
experiences, beliefs, and desires that give rise to those acts of will; and so there is
no reason to regard them as the agents of those acts. And the same is true for
Humanity. It has a brain—indeed, multiple brains. And its brains token thoughts,
acts of will, and the like. But, like my temporal parts, Humanity is not the subject
of the thoughts tokened in those brains, and so there is no reason to regard it as
the agent of the acts of will that are tokened in them.
Moreover, like Aquinas’s view, the Organic Whole theory lacks the resources to
explain why it is only the guilt for Adam’s first sin that gets imputed to all of the
temporal parts of Humanity. And whereas Aquinas could at least try to insist that
only Adam’s first sin involved all of human nature, Edwards (on this interpret-
ation) could not do so, for the metaphysical presuppositions that support the
attribution of Adam’s guilt to all of us transparently imply otherwise.

2.4 The Fission Theory

The Fission theory, on the other hand, is much more promising. For one thing, it
is more exegetically plausible since it, unlike its competitor, is compatible with
theories of persistence that were actually in circulation at the time that Edwards
wrote his treatise on original sin. Moreover, it provides the resources either to
answer or to obviate all four of the troublesome questions that arose in connection
with the Organic Whole theory.
To see this, let us begin by considering a straightforwardly stage theoretic
development of the Fission theory. Recall the following remark:

And there is no identity or oneness [between the successive stages of a created

substance] but what depends on the arbitrary constitution of the Creator; who by

³⁴ Wainwright (1988) raises this objection against Edwards, though he does not develop it in the way
that I do.
³⁵ As indicated above (note 32), there is room for disagreement on this point. But, as we have seen,
saying that each of my temporal parts is the subject of its thoughts leads to an absurd multiplication of
thinkers.
      37

his wise sovereign establishment so unites these successive new effects, that he
treats them as one, by communicating to them like properties, relations, and
circumstances; and so, leads us to regard and treat them as one.
(Edwards 1992: 224; emphasis in original)

In the light of a counterpart theoretic account of persistence (together with a

counterpart theoretic understanding of modal predications), we may flesh out
remarks like this and others along the following lines. What temporal predications
are (objectively) true of an individual depends entirely upon what stages God
chooses to treat as counterparts of that individual. The counterpart relation may
still be analysed in terms of relevant similarity; but, on this view, relevant
similarity is an objective relation grounded in God’s judgments. For the most
part, we may assume that God’s judgments coincide with our own intuitive
judgments. In other words, for the most part, those stages that are objectively
relevantly similar to us, or to other objects, are precisely the stages we would
expect to be relevantly similar to us if our commonsense judgments about
persistence were true. And so those judgments are true. I was once a baby; I was
never a baby alligator. And so on. However, we learn from revelation (plus,
perhaps, a bit of systematic theologizing) that a rather unexpected set of temporal
predications is true of each of us. It turns out that, according to revelation, the
stages of Adam that committed Adam’s first sin are relevantly similar to us in a
way that suffices for their being our counterparts. In other words, for each of us,
there is an x such that x is our counterpart and x committed Adam’s sin. Thus,
given our counterpart theoretic account of persistence, it is true of each of us that
we committed Adam’s sin. Notably, it is also true of each of us that we were Adam.
But, as we have seen above, that hitherto cryptic remark has been affirmed by
luminaries of the Church since the time of Augustine. Only now we have the
resources to make sense of it. On the present view, it is literally true that we sinned
in Adam, and that by Adam’s sin, the many were made sinners.³⁶
Consider now the four troublesome questions that arose in connection with the
Organic Whole theory. Do we really blame later stages for the sins committed by
earlier stages? On this view, yes. For, on this view, what it means to say that I (a
momentary stage) committed some sin in the past is just that there is some earlier
stage that committed the sin and is my counterpart. Is there conflict with MR? No.
For, though I am blamed for Adam’s sin, it is also true that I could have prevented
Adam’s sin. After all, I was Adam, and, by hypothesis, Adam could have prevented
Adam’s sin. Thus, A1 is false, and MR is preserved. Is Humanity a moral agent?

³⁶ The claim that ‘we sinned in Adam’ is based on an inaccurate translation of Romans 5:12b, one
which greatly influenced Augustine’s development of the doctrine of original sin as well as much
subsequent thought on the topic (see Wiley 2002: 51 for discussion). The claim that ‘the many were
made sinners’ is from Romans 5:19.
38    :  

On the present view, that question is obviated; for the present view makes no
commitment even to the existence of such an object, much less to its moral
agency. Is there an answer to the question of why only Adam’s first sin and not
his later sins or the sins of other ancestors of ours are imputed to us? Yes: the
answer is that, so far as revelation teaches us, only the stages of Adam that were
involved in committing his first sin stand to each of us in the (objective) coun-
terpart relation.
Of course, one might well note that, at this point, a fifth difficult question arises:
On this view, it is entirely up to God whether, for any person P, the parts of Adam
that committed Adam’s sin are counterparts of P. Thus, except in the case of those
very stages of Adam that actually committed Adam’s sin, it is entirely up to God
whether claims of the form ‘p committed Adam’s sin’ are true. Likewise, then, it is
entirely up to God whether claims of the form ‘p is to blame for Adam’s sin’ are
true. Why, then, would God choose for everyone to have those sinning stages of
Adam as counterparts? Wouldn’t we expect a loving, compassionate, and forgiv-
ing God to arrange things so that as few people as possible (rather than as many
people as possible) are to blame for the sin of Adam?³⁷ Perhaps; but it is important
to keep in mind here that, just as it is up to God whether to hold me guilty for
Adam’s sin, so too it is up to God whether to hold later stages of Adam guilty for
Adam’s sin. If it were really true that a good God would minimize overall guilt,
then it should follow (if the Fission theory is correct) that a good God would not
even hold later stages of Adam guilty for Adam’s sin. But that is a counterintuitive
consequence. The Fission theorist therefore has reason to reject the claim that a
good God would minimize overall guilt; and, if her theory is to have any hope of
respecting ordinary moral intuitions, she will have to sign on to a view according
to which there is something good, fitting, or wise about God’s choosing to ascribe
guilt to a great many more stages than those that are actually involved in the
commission of the various sins that have been committed throughout human
history. Once she has accepted this sort of view, however, the way is open for her
to argue that precisely what makes it good, fitting, or wise for God to ascribe guilt
(say) to me for the sins of some of my yesterday-stages also makes it good, fitting,
or wise for God to ascribe guilt to me for the sins of Adam’s stages. Notably, this is
precisely the sort of approach that Jonathan Edwards himself takes in response to
the question of why a good God might choose to ascribe guilt for Adam’s sin in the
ways that the Fission theorist says that he does (Edwards 1992: 225).
I have so far been fleshing out the Fission theory under stage theoretic assump-
tions, but it is important to note that the story could as easily be fleshed out under
other assumptions. All we need is a theory of persistence that enables us to make
coherent and plausible sense of the central claim that Adam underwent fission,

³⁷ I thank Michael Murray for raising this objection.

      39

splitting into billions of different people. That claim is singularly implausible

under, say, endurantist assumptions; for there was simply no event in Adam’s
life that looked even remotely like an enduring substance splitting into billions of
different people. But, to my mind, the claim that Adam underwent fission will be
equally plausible (or not) on any theory of persistence according to which, at least
for the most part, the persistence of ordinary things is only persistence in the
‘loose and popular’ sense and temporal predications are to be analysed in terms of
predications of ‘stand-ins’ or counterparts. For, on any of these theories, it will not
be hard to tell a story according to which Adam, or some stage of Adam, counts as
a suitable stand-in for all of us, thus grounding the attribution to all of us of the
property having committed Adam’s sin.
But what about worm theory? After all, worm theory does not fit into that
family of theories whose members say that familiar things, for the most part, do
not exist at multiple times. On worm theory, the central claim of the Fission
theory amounts to the claim that all human beings overlap Adam, having some
relevant temporal part of him as their first temporal part. There is nothing
incoherent in this; but there is at least one worry to be raised. The worry is that
this claim does not fit naturally with assumptions that typically accompany worm
theory. Worm theorists typically want to say that the temporal parts of persons are
unified by spatiotemporal and causal relations of a sort that seem not to hold
between (say) Adam’s temporal parts and mine.³⁸ Thus, there is a real question of
motivation here: Why, apart from the fact that it is required by a particular theory
of original sin, should we believe that Adam has undergone fission and split into
billions of different people? Here, worm theory has trouble accommodating the
Fission theory for much the same reason that endurantism does: there is no event
in Adam’s life that looks like his splitting into billions of different people. And so it
is hard to see what would explain, or ground, the alleged fact that Adam’s
temporal parts are among my temporal parts. After all, my temporal parts bear
relations of biological and psychological continuity to one another that they do
not bear to any part of Adam; and it is hard to see any other plausibly relevant
spatiotemporal or causal relations that my parts bear to Adam’s that they do not
bear to the parts of many other people. Thus, absent further argument, the claim
that Adam and I share temporal parts in common is implausible.
One might reply by saying that the temporal parts of Adam and me (and so of
persons generally) are unified by brute, unanalysable genidentity relations. But
saying this sheds no light on why Adam’s initial temporal parts and none others
are shared by everybody. To claim that it is just a brute fact that this is so is
perfectly coherent, but it is, to my mind, unacceptably ad hoc. But there is a more
promising move that can be made. One might say that (a) sometimes, even if not

³⁸ See, for example, the discussion of identity criteria and persistence across temporal gaps in
Hudson 2001 (chs 4 and 7).
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Crossostoma, 408
Crucibulum, 248, 412
Cryptochiton, 245, 371, 402, 404
Cryptochorda, 425
Cryptoconchus, 404
Cryptophthalmus, 430
Cryptostracon, 353, 441
Ctenidia, 151—see Branchiae
Ctenopoma, 346–351, 414
Cucullaea, 274, 448
Cultellus, 457
Cuma, 423
Cumingia, 453
Cuspidaria, 459;
branchiae, 168
Cuvierina, 436, 436
Cyane, 410
Cyathopoma, 247, 268, 314, 338, 414
Cyclas, 453;
veliger, 132;
ova, 146;
otocyst, 197;
C. cornea, thread-spinning, 29;
distribution, 282
Cyclina, 454
Cyclobranchiata, 156
Cyclocantha, 409
Cyclomorpha, 414
Cyclonassa, 423
Cyclonema, 409
Cyclophoridae, origin, 21
Cyclophorus, 302, 306–319, 329–334, 344, 352–358, 414;
jaws, 212;
radula, 21
Cyclostoma, 328, 331–338, 414, 414;
stomach, 239;
vision, 184;
 osphradium, 195;
nervous system, 205;
C. elegans, 287, 288
Cyclostomatidae, origin, 21;
radula, 224;
gait, 199
Cyclostrema, 408
Cyclosurus, 247, 337, 414
Cyclotopsis, 338, 414
Cyclotus, 296, 319, 320, 414
Cylichna, 428, 430;
radula, 215
Cylindrella, 247, 260, 278, 343–355, 348, 442;
monstrosity, 251, 252
Cylindrellidae, radula, 233, 234
Cylindrites, 430
Cylindrobulla, 430
Cylindromitra, 425;
radula, 222
Cymbium, 255, 367, 425;
radula, 221
Cymbulia, 437
Cymbuliopsis, 437
Cynodonta, 424
Cyphoma, 419
Cypraea, 178, 419;
prices given for rare, 122;
mantle-lobes, 177, 178;
radula, 224;
shell, 255, 260, 261;
C. moneta, 96
Cypraecassis, 420
Cypraedia, 419
Cypraeovula, 419
Cyprimeria, 454
Cyprina, 451
Cyrena, 15, 453;
 distribution, 285, 294
Cyrenella, 453
Cyrtia, 505;
stratigraphical distribution, 507, 508
Cyrtoceras, 394
Cyrtodaria, 457
Cyrtodonta, 452
Cyrtolites, 407
Cyrtonotus, 448
Cyrtotoma, 414
Cysticopsis, 346–351, 441
Cystiscus, 425
Cystopelta, 325, 326, 440
Cytherea, 454, 454

Dacrydium, 449
Daedalochila, 441
Dall, W. H., quoted, 35;
on branchiae, 164
Damayantia, 440
Daphnella, 426
Darbyshire, R. D., on tenacity of life, 39
Dardania, 415
Dart-sac, 142
Daudebardia, 289, 292 f., 440
Davidsonia, 505, 508
Dawsonella, 410
Dayia, 505, 508
Decapoda, 385 f.
Decollation, 260
Deep-sea Mollusca, 374
De Folin, experiment on Cyclostoma, 157
Deianira, 410
Delage, experiments on otocysts, 197
Delphinula, 409
Deltidium, 499
Dendronotus, 433;
 protective coloration, 72;
habits, 51
Dentalium, 6, 444, 445;
used as money, 97;
veliger, 131;
radula, 228
Dentellaria, 350–355, 441;
aperture, 63
Desert species, 25, 85
Deshayesia, 411
Desmoulea, 423
Development of fertilised ovum, 130 f.
Dexiobranchaea, 437
Diadema, 414
Diala, 415
Dialeuca, 441
Diaphora, 314
Diaphorostoma, 412
Diastema, 418
Diastoma, 417
Diaulula, 434
Dibaphus, 425
Dibranchiata, 380;
eye, 183;
nervous system, 207
Diceras, 269, 455
Didaena, 12, 297, 455
Differences of sex, 133
Dignomia, 511
Digonopora, 134, 144
Diloma, 408
Dimorphoptychia, 410
Dimya, 450
Dinobolus, 504, 508
Dinoplax, 403
Ditocardia, 9, 170, 405 f.
Diplodonta, 452
Diplommatina, 302–327, 413
Diplomphalus, 322, 323, 440
Diplopoma, 346, 351, 414
Dipsaccus, 424
Dipsas, 307
Discina, 464, 468, 471, 475, 487;
distribution, 485;
fossil, 493, 504;
stratigraphical distribution, 506, 508
Discinidae, 487, 496, 504, 508, 511
Discinisca, 487, 510;
distribution, 485, 486
Discites, 395
Discodoris, 434
Discosorus, 394
Distortio, 255—see Persona
Ditropis, 312, 314, 414
Docoglossa, 227, 405
Dolabella, 428, 431
Dolabrifer, 431
Dolium, 419;
acid secretion, 237
Donax, 269, 446, 453
Dondersia, 404
Dorcasia, 333, 441
Doridium, 430
Doridunculus, 434;
radula, 229
Doriopsis, 434
Doris, breathing organs, 159;
radula, 230
Dorsanum, 423
Dosidicus, 390
Dosinia, 454
Doto, 433;
protective coloration, 71
Dreissensia, 14, 123, 452;
 hibernation, 26;
singular habitat, 48;
veliger, 132, 146;
eyes, 192
Dreissensiomya, 452
Drepania, 434
Drillia, 426
Drymaeus, 356, 442
Dryptus, 356, 441
Durgella, 301, 304, 440
Dwarf varieties, 88
Dybowskia, 290

Eastonia, 454
Eburna, 267, 424;
radula, 220
Ecardines, 466;
muscles, 476;
fossil, 493;
families, 487, 503, 508
Eccyliomphalus, 413
Echinospira, 133
Edentulina, 338
Egg-laying of Arion, 42 f.;
of Mollusca generally, 123
Eglisia, 411
Eider-duck, shells used by, 102
Elaea, 322, 440
Elasmoneura, 411
Eledone, 385, 385;
radula, 236
Elizia, 456
Elysia, 432;
protective coloration, 73;
breathing, 152;
radula, 217, 230, 432
Emarginula, 265, 406
Embletonia, 429
Emmericia, 415
Ena, 296, 442
Enaeta, 425
Endoceras, 394
Endodonta, 325, 334, 441
Engina, 424
Enida, 408
Ennea, 298, 302, 306, 309, 314, 316, 328–337, 440, 440;
habits, 54;
E. bicolor, 279
Enoplochiton, 403, 403
Enoploteuthis, 391
Ensis, 457
Entocolax, 77, 79, 152
Entoconcha, 77, 79, 152, 216
Entovalva, 77, 82
Ephippodonta, 453;
commensal, 81
Epidromus, 420
Epiphragm, 26, 27 f.
Epipodia, 427
Erato, 419
Eremophila, 294
Ergaea, 248, 412
Erinna, 327, 439
Erosion, 276
Ervilia, 454
Erycina, 453
Escargotières, 119
Estria, 329, 440
Estuarine species, 14
Ethalia, 409
Eucalodium, 260, 353, 442
Euchelus, 408
Euchrysallis, 420
Eudioptus, 442
Eudoxochiton, 403
Euhadra, 316, 318, 441
Eulamellibranchiata, 451;
gill, 166, 167
Eulima, 422;
parasitic, 77, 79
Eulimella, 250, 422
Eulota, 296, 441
Euomphalus, 247, 413
Euplecta, 440
Eupleura, 423
Euplocamus, 434
Eurybia, 438
Eurycampta, 346–351
Eurycratera, 349, 351, 441
Eurystoma, 304
Eurytus, 442
Euthria, 424
Euthyneura, 203
Eutrochatella, 347–351, 348, 410
Exploring expeditions, 362
Eye in Mollusca, 181 f.

Facelina, 432
Fasciolaria, 424;
radula, 221
Fastigiella, 416
Favorinus, 432
Fenella, 415
Fertilised ovum, development, 130 f.
Ferussacia, 291, 293, 297 f., 442
Fiji islanders, use of shells, 98
Filibranchiata, 448;
gill, 166
Fiona, 432;
radula, 217
Firoloida, 421
Fischer and Bouvier, on breathing of Ampullaria, 158
Fischeria, 15, 328, 453
Fish devour Mollusca, 59
Fissurella, 265, 406;
breathing organs, 153;
apical hole, 156;
nervous system, 204;
radula, 227;
growth, 261
Fissurellidaea, 406
Fissuridea, 406
Fissurisepta, 406
Fistulana, 262, 457
Flabellina, 432
Fluminicola, 415
Folinia, 415
Food of Mollusca, 30 f.;
Mollusca as food, 102 f.
Foot, 198;
in classification, 5
Forel, on deep-water Limnaea, 162
Formation of shell, 255
Fortisia, 429
Fossarina, 413
Fossarulus, 302, 415
Fossarus, 413
Fourth orifice in mantle, 174
Fresh-water species living in sea, 12;
frozen hard, 24
Frogs and toads devour Mollusca, 58
Fruticicola, 285, 290, 316, 318, 441
Fruticocampylaea, 296
Fryeria, 434
Fulgur, 249, 424
Fusispira, 420
Fusus, 262, 424
Gadinia, 152, 431;
breathing, 18, 151;
classification, 19;
radula, 217, 230
Gain, W. A., quoted, 32, 33, 39;
on taste of Mollusca, 179
Galatea, 15, 328, 336, 453
Galeomma, 175, 453
Galerus, 248, 412;
egg-capsules, 125
Garstang, W., on protective and warning coloration, 73
Gaskoin, on tenacity of life, 38;
on egg-laying, 42
Gassies, on hybrid union in snails, 130
Gasteropoda, on classification, 8, 11, 400 f.
Gastrana, 453
Gastrochaena, 457;
habits, 64
Gastrodonta, 440
Gastropteron, 245, 430
Gaza, 376, 408
Gena, 246, 408
Genea, 424
Genotia, 426
Geomalacus, 160, 288, 291, 441;
protective coloration, 70
Geomelania, 16, 348, 351, 414
Georgia, 331, 414
Georissa, 318, 410
Geostilbia, 338, 442
Gerontia, 441
Gerstfeldtia, 290
Gibbula, 408
Gibbus, 328–338, 440, 440
Gillia, 415
Gills—see Branchiae
Girasia, 301, 304, 440
Glandina, 54, 178, 278, 292 f., 339–355, 440;
radula, 231, 232;
habits, 53
Glands, germ, 134, 140;
nidamental, 136
Glassia, 501, 505
Glaucomya, 320, 454
Glaucus, 429, 432
Gleba, 437
Glessula, 301, 309, 310, 333, 442
Glochidium, 147
Glomus, 448
Glossoceras, 394
Glossophora, 7
Glottidia, distribution, 485, 487
Glycimeris, 457
Glyphis, 406
Glyptostoma, 341, 441
Gomphoceras, 394, 395
Gonatus, 391
Goniatites, 397, 398
Goniobasis, 341, 417
Goniodoris, 434;
protective coloration, 73;
radula, 229
Goniomya, 458
Gonostoma, 291, 316, 441
Goniostomus, 442
Grammysia, 459
Grateloupia, 454
Great Eastern and mussels, 116
Greenhouses, slugs in, 35
Green oysters, 108
Gresslya, 458
Growth of shell, 40, 257
Guesteria, 440
Guildfordia, 409
Guivillea, 186, 376, 425
Gulls and Mollusca, 56
Gundlachia, 19, 325, 345, 352, 359, 439
Gymnoglossa, 216, 225, 422
Gymnosomata, 437
Gyroceras, 247, 395
Gyrotoma, 417

Hadra, 306, 315, 319–325, 322, 441

Hadriania, 423
Haemoglobin, 171
Hainesia, 336, 414
Halia, 366, 426
Haliotinella, 431
Haliotis, 266, 407;
and coyote, 57;
holes of, 156;
osphradium, 195;
epipodium, 199;
nervous system, 204;
radula, 215, 226
Halopsyche, 159, 438, 438
Haminea, 428, 430;
protective coloration, 73
Hamites, 399
Hamulina, 399
Hanleyia, 403
Hapalus, 331, 442
Harpa, radula, 425, 216, 221;
self-mutilation, 45
Harpagodes, 418
Harpoceras, 399
Harvella, 454
Hatching of eggs, 43
Hazay, on duration of life, 39;
on variation in Limnaea, 93
Hearing powers of Mollusca, 196
Heart, in classification, 9;
action during hibernation, 26;
and branchiae, 169
Hectocotylus arm, 137 f.
Helcion, 405;
protective coloration, 69
Helcioniscus, 405
Hele, F. M., on Hyalinia, 33;
on Stenogyra, 34
Helicarion, 309, 316, 325, 332, 440;
radula, 232;
habits, 45, 67
Helicidae, radula, 232, 234
Helicina, 305, 306, 316–327, 338–358, 410;
origin, 21;
exterminated by cold, 24
Helicophanta, 335, 336, 441, 441
Heligmus, 449
Helix, 441;
toothed aperture, 63;
protective coloration, 70;
variation, 87;
carbonic acid, 163;
eye, 181, 183;
food, 179;
smell, 194;
jaw, 211;
distribution, 285;
tenacity of life, 37;
breeding, 129
Helix alternata, 340;
angulata, 350;
aperta, 38, 39, 51, 293;
arbustorum, bathing, 23;
caperata, variation, 89;
cereolus, 340;
cicatricosa, 316;
crenilabris, 45;
delphinuloides, 297;
desertorum, 37, 38, 70, 294;
fidelis, 341;
haemastoma, habits, 70;
harpa, 287;
hortensis, 10, 279;
pulsations, 26;
epiphragm, 28;
rock-boring, 49;
dart, 143;
imperator, 347;
habits, 45;
laciniosa, 297;
lactea, 25, 38, 42, 279;
lima, 350;
muscarum, 347;
nemoralis, 38, 180;
niciensis, 292;
nux denticulata, 350;
palliata, 340;
pisana, 25;
habits, 33;
pomatia, 25, 34, 40;
eye, 181;
pomum, 322;
pulchella, 279;
richmondiana, 322;
rosacea, 259;
rostrata, 347;
rota, 314;
rufescens, pulsations, 26;
similaris, 279;
souverbiana, 336, 441;
strigata, 293;
tristis, habits, 49;
turricula, 297;
 Veatchii, 38;
Waltoni, 304;
Wollastoni, 297;
zonata, 293
Helix aspersa, homing, 35;
smell, 36;
duration of life, 39;
growth, 40;
strength, 45;
boring rock, 50;
variation, 87, 89;
eaten, 119;
hybrid union, 130;
generative organs, 140 f., 141;
dart-sac, 143;
pulmonary chamber, 160;
radula, 217;
alimentary canal, 237;
monstrosities, 251, 252;
growth, 258;
distribution, 279, 289
Hemiarthrum, 403
Hemicardium, 455
Hemidonax, 453
Hemifusus, 424
Hemipecten, 450
Hemiplecta, 310, 316, 319, 321, 440
Hemisepius, 389
Hemisinus, 357, 417
Hemitoma, 265
Hemitrichia, 314
Hemitrochus, 346–351, 441
Hemphillia, 245, 341, 441
Hercoceras, 395
Herdman, Prof. W. A., on cerata of Nudibranchs, 71 f.;
experiments on taste of Nudibranchs, 72;
on Littorina rudis, 151 n.
Hermaea, 432;
protective coloration, 73
Hermaphrodite Mollusca, 134, 140, 145
Hermit-crabs, shells used by, 102
Hero, 432
Heterocardia, 454
Heterodiceras, 455
Heteropoda, 9, 420 f.;
radula, 228;
foot, 200
Heudeia, 316, 410
Hexabranchus, 434
Hibernation, 25, 163
High altitudes, Mollusca living at, 24
Himella, 15
Hindsia, 424
Hindsiella, 453
Hinge area, 493, 498
Hinge, in bivalves, 272
Hinnites, 257, 450
Hipponyx, 248, 412
Hippopus, 455
Hippurites, 455, 456
Histiopsis, 391
Histioteuthis, 391
Holcostoma, 417
Holohepatica, 433
Holopella, 411
Holospira, 339, 353, 442
Holostomata, 156
Homalogyra, 413;
radula, 223
Homalonyx, 245, 343-358, 443
Homing powers of Mollusca, 34
Homorus, 330–337, 443
Hoplites, 399
Hoplopteron, 422
Horea, 332
Horiostoma, 409
Hot springs, Mollusca living in, 25
Huronia, 394
Hyalaea, 10, 436
Hyalimax, 245, 305, 306, 338, 443
Hyaline stylet, 240
Hyalinia, 440;
pulsations, 26;
food, 33;
smell, 194;
dart, 143;
radula, 232, 234;
distribution, 287 f., 318, 340–357;
H. alliaria, 279;
smell, 194;
cellaria, 279;
Draparnaldi, 33
Hyalocylix, 437
Hyalosagda, 352
Hybocystis, 305, 309, 414
Hybridism, 129
Hydatina, 430;
radula, 231
Hydrobia, 325, 332, 415;
H. ulvae, egg-laying, 128
Hydrocena, 298, 410;
radula, 226
Hymenoptera build in dead shells, 102
Hypobranchaea, 434;
radula, 230
Hypotrema, 448
Hypselostoma, 248, 302, 305, 314, 442
Hyria, 344, 452
Hystricella, 297

Ianthina, 360, 126, 411;

 egg-capsules, 125;
eyes, 186;
radula, 224
Iapetella, 385
Iberus, 285–293, 297, 441
Ichthyosarcolites, 456
Idalia, 179, 429, 434;
radula, 229, 230
Idas, 449
Idiosepion, 389
Illex, 390
Imbricaria, 425;
radula, 221
Imperator, 409
Indians of America, use of shells, 100
Infundibulum, 408
Inioteuthis, 389
Ink-sac, 241
Inoceramus, 449
Insects eaten by Mollusca, 32
Insularia, 319, 320
Intestine, 241
Io, 16, 340, 417
Iopas, 423
Iphigenia, 15, 453
Iravadia, 305, 415
Iridina, 294
Irus, 297
Isanda, 409
Ischnochiton, 403
Isidora, 298, 320–327, 333, 336, 359, 439
Ismenia, 404
Isocardia, 269, 451, 451
Isodonta, 453
Isomeria, 343, 356, 441
Issa, 434
Jamaicia, 414
Janella, 161, 443;
pulmonary orifice, 161
Janellidae, radula, 234;
distribution, 321–326
Janus, 432
Japonia, 318
Jaws, 210
Jeanerettia, 346–351, 441
Jeffreys, Dr., on Limnaea, 34;
on Neptunea, 193
Jeffreysia, 415;
radula, 223
Jorunna, protective coloration, 73
Jouannettia, 457
Jullienia, 307, 415
Jumala, 424

Kaliella, 301, 304, 310, 314–317, 335, 440

Kalinga, 434
Kashmir, land Mollusca, 280
Katherina, 403
Kelletia, 424
Kellia, 453
Kellyella, 452
Kidneys, 242
King, R. L., on smell in bivalves, 195
Kingena, 506, 508
Kitchen-middens, 104
Koninckella, 505;
stratigraphical distribution, 507, 508
Koninckina, 505;
stratigraphical distribution, 507, 508
Koninckinidae, 501, 505, 508
Kutorgina, 504;
stratigraphical distribution, 506, 508;
embryonic shell, 509
Labial palps, 210
Labyrinthus, 342, 353–357, 441;
aperture, 63
Lacaze-Duthiers on Testacella, 52 f.;
on smell in Helix, 194
Lacuna, 413
Lacunopsis, 332
Lagena, 424
Lagochilus, 309, 316–319, 414
Lamellaria, 245, 411;
habits and protective coloration, 74;
parasitic, 78;
radula, 223
Lamellidoris, 434;
radula, 229, 230, 231
Lampania, 417
Land Mollusca, origin, 11 f.
Lanistes, 249, 294, 328, 331, 416
Lankester, Prof. E. Ray, on shell-gland, 132;
on haemoglobin, 171
Lantzia, 278, 338, 439
Laoma, 441
Larina, 302, 417
Larvae of Pelecypoda, 7;
of insects resembling Mollusca, 67 f.
Lasaea, 453
Latia, 19, 326, 439
Latiaxis, 423
Latirus, 424
Latter, O. H., on Glochidium, 147
Layard, E. L., on self-burying Mollusca, 41;
on sudden appearance of Stenogyra, 47;
on Coeliaxis, 49;
on Rhytida and Aerope, 54
Leda, 447
Leia, 348–351, 442
Leila, 344, 452